ABNER    DANIEL 


a  Botoel  bp 
WILL    N.    HARBEN 

AUTHOR  OF  "WESTERFELT" 


NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

HARPER    £r    BROTHERS 

PUBLISHERS       1902 


Copyright,  1902,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 


All  rights  reserved. 
Published  June,  1902. 


STACK 
ANNEX 


TO 
MY   SISTER 

MRS.  RAY   KNIGHT 


ABNER    DANIEL 


young  man  stood  in  the  field  road 
i  giving  directions  to  a  robust  negro  who 
was  ploughing  the  corn,  which,  in 
.parallel  rows,  stretched  on  to  the  main 
road  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant.  The 
negro  placed  the  point  of  his  plough 
share  a  few  inches  from  the  first  stalk  of  corn,  wound 
the  line  around  his  wrist,  and  clucked  to  his  horse. 
With  a  jangling  jerk  of  the  trace -chains  the  animal 
lunged  ahead :  the  polished  ploughshare  cut  into  the 
mellow  soil  and  sped  onward,  curling  the  gray  earth 
like  shavings,  and  uprooting  and  burying  the  tena 
cious  crab-grass  and  succulent  purslane. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day.  The  sun  was  shining 
brightly,  but  the  atmosphere  had  dropped  a  dim  veil 
over  the  near-by  mountain.  Even  the  two-storied 
farm-house,  with  its  veranda  and  white  columns,  to 
which  the  field  road  led  up  a  gradual  slope,  showed 
only  its  outlines.  However,  Alan  Bishop,  as  he  stead- 
led  his  gaze  upon  the  house,  saw  the  figure  of  an  elderly 
woman  come  out  of  the  gate  and  with  a  quick  step 
hurry  down  to  him.  It  was  his  mother;  she  was  tall 
and  angular,  and  had  high  cheek-bones  and  small 
blue  eyes.  She  had  rather  thin  gray  hair,  which  was 

I 


Abner    Daniel 

wound  into  a  knot  behind  her  head,  and  over  it  she 
wore  only  a  small  red  breakfast  shawl  which  she  held 
in  place  by  one  of  her  long  hands. 

"Alan,"  she  said,  panting  from  her  brisk  walk, 
"  I  want  you  to  come  to  the  house  right  off.  Mr.  Tra- 
bue  has  come  to  see  yore  pa  again  an'  I  can't  do  a 
thing  with  'im." 

"Well,  what  does  he  want  with  him?"  asked  the 
young  man.  His  glance  was  on  the  ploughman  and 
his  horse.  They  had  turned  the  far  end  of  the  corn- 
row  and  were  coming  back,  only  the  nodding  head 
of  the  animal  being  visible  beyond  a  little  rise. 

"  He's  come  to  draw  up  the  papers  fer  another  land 
trade  yore  pa's  makin'.  He's  the  lawyer  fer  the  Tomp- 
kins  estate.  Yore  pa  tried  to  buy  the  land  a  yeer  ago, 
but  it  wasn't  in  shape  to  dispose  of.  Oh,  Alan,  don't 
you  see  he's  goin'  to  ruin  us  with  his  fool  notions? 
Folks  all  about  are  a-laughin'  at  him  fer  buyin'  so 
much  useless  mountain  -  land.  I'm  powerful  afeered 
his  mind  is  wrong." 

"Well,  mother,  what  could  I  do?"  Alan  Bishop 
asked  impatiently.  "You  know  he  won't  listen  to 
me." 

"I  reckon  you  can't  stop  'im,"  sighed  the  woman, 
"but  I  wish  you'd  come  on  to  the  house.  I  knowed 
he  was  up  to  some'n'.  Ever'  day  fer  the  last  week  he's 
been  ridin'  up  the  valley  an'  rollin'  and  tumblin'  at 
night  an'  chawin'  ten  times  as  much  tobacco  as  he 
ort.  Oh,  he's  goin'  to  ruin  us!  Brother  Abner  says 
he  is  buyin'  beca'se  he  thinks  it's  goin'  to  advance 
in  value,  but  sech  property  hain't  advanced  a  speck 
sence  I  kin  remember,  an'  is  bein'  sold  ever'  yeer  fer 
tax  money." 

"  No,  it's  very  foolish  of  him,"  said  the  young  man 
as  the  two  turned  towards  the  house.  "  Father  keeps 
talking  about  the  fine  timber  on  such  property,  but 

2 


Abner   Daniel 

it  is  entirely  too  far  from  a  railroad  ever  to  be  worth 
anything.  I  asked  Rayburn  Miller  about  it  and  he 
told  me  to  do  all  I  could  to  stop  father  from  investing, 
and  you  know  he's  as  sharp  a  speculator  as  ever  lived  ; 
but  it's  his  money." 

There  was  a  paling  fence  around  the  house,  and 
the  enclosure  was  alive  with  chickens,  turkeys,  geese, 
ducks,  and  peafowls.  In  the  sunshine  on  the  veranda 
two  pointers  lay  sleeping,  but  at  the  sound  of  the  open 
ing  gate  they  rose,  stretched  themselves  lazily,  and 
gaped. 

"  They  are  in  the  parlor/'  said  Mrs.  Bishop,  as  she 
whisked  off  her  breakfast  shawl.  "Go  right  in,  I'll 
come  in  a  minute.  I  want  to  see  how  Linda  is  makin' 
out  with  the  churnin'.  La !  I  feel  like  it's  a  waste  o' 
time  to  do  a  lick  o'  work  with  him  in  thar  actin'  like  a 
child.  Ef  we  both  go  in  together  it  '11  look  like  we've 
concocked  somethin',  but  we  must  stop  'im  ef  we  kin." 

Alan  went  into  the  parlor  on  the  left  of  the  wide,  un- 
carpeted  hall.  The  room  had  white  plastered  walls, 
but  the  ceiling  was  of  boards  planed  by  hand  and 
painted  sky  blue.  In  one  corner  stood  a  very  old  piano 
with  pointed,  octagonal  legs  and  a  stool  with  hair-cloth 
covering.  The  fireplace  was  wide  and  high,  and  had 
a  screen  made  of  a  decorated  window -shade  tightly 
pasted  on  a  wooden  frame.  Old  man  Bishop  sat  near 
a  window,  and  through  his  steel-framed  nose-glasses 
was  carefully  reading  a  long  document  written  on 
legal-cap  paper.  He  paid  no  attention  to  the  entrance 
of  his  son,  but  the  lawyer,  a  short,  fat  man  of  sixty- 
five  with  thick  black  hair  that  fell  below  his  coat-collar, 
rose  and  extended  his  hand. 

"How's  Alan?"  he  asked,  pleasantly.  "I  saw  you 
down  in  the  field  as  I  come  along,  but  I  couldn't  catch 
your  eye.  You  see  I'm  out  after  some  o'  your  dad's 
cash.  He's  buying  hisse'f  rich.  My  Lord !  if  it  ever 

3 


Abner   Daniel 

does  turn  his  way  he'll  scoop  in  enough  money  to  set 
you  and  your  sister  up  for  life.  Folks  tell  me  he  owns 
mighty  near  every  stick  of  timber-land  in  the  Cohutta 
Valley,  and  what  he  has  he  got  at  the  bottom  figure." 

"If  it  ever  turns  his  way/'  said  Alan;  "but  do  you 
see  any  prospect  of  it's  ever  doing  so,  Mr.  Trabue?" 

The  lawyer  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  never  bet  on 
another  man's  trick,  my  boy,  and  I  never  throw  cold 
water  on  the  plans  of  a  speculator.  I  used  to  when  I 
was  about  your  age,  but  I  saw  so  many  of  'em  get  rich 
by  paying  no  attention  to  me  that  I  quit  right  off.  A 
man  ought  to  be  allowed  to  use  his  own  judgment." 

Old  Bishop  was  evidently  not  hearing  a  word  of 
this  conversation,  being  wholly  absorbed  in  studying 
the  details  of  the  deed  before  him.  "I  reckon  it's 
all  right,"  he  finally  said.  "  You  say  the  Tompkins 
children  are  all  of  age?" 

"Yes,  Effie  was  the  youngest,"  answered  Trabue, 
"  and  she  stepped  over  the  line  last  Tuesday.  There's 
her  signature  in  black  and  white.  The  deed's  all 
right.  I  don't  draw  up  any  other  sort." 

Alan  went  to  his  father  and  leaned  over  him. 
"Father,"  he  said,  softly,  and  yet  with  firmness,  "I 
wish  you'd  not  act  hastily  in  this  deal.  You  ought 
to  consider  mother's  wishes,  and  she  is  nearly  dis 
tracted  over  it." 

Bishop  was  angry.  His  massive,  clean-shaven  face 
was  red.  "I'd  like  to  know  what  I'd  consult  her  fer," 
he  said.  "In  a  matter  o'  this  kind  a  woman's  about 
as  responsible  as  a  suckin'  baby." 

Trabue  laughed  heartily.  "Well,  I  reckon  It's  a 
good  thing  your  wife  didn't  hear  that  or  she'd  show 
you  whether  she  was  responsible  or  not.  I  couldn't 
have  got  the  first  word  of  that  off  my  tongue  before 
my  wife  would  'a'  knocked  me  clean  through  that 
wall." 


Abner   Daniel 

Alfred  Bishop  seemed  not  to  care  for  levity  during 
business  hours,  for  he  greeted  this  remark  only  with  a 
frown.  He  scanned  the  paper  again  and  said :  "  Well, 
ef  thar's  any  flaw  in  this  I  reckon  you'll  make  it  right/' 

"Oh  yes,  I'll  make  any  mistake  of  mine  good,"  re 
turned  Trabue.  "The  paper's  all  right." 

"You  see,"  said  Alan  to  the  lawyer,  "mother  and  I 
think  father  has.  already  more  of  this  sort  of  property 
than  he  can  carry,  and — " 

"I  wish  you  and  yore  mother  'd  let  my  business 
alone,"  broke  in  Bishop,  firing  up  again.  "  Trabue  heer 
knows  I've  been  worryin'  'im  fer  the  last  two  months 
to  get  the  property  in  salable  shape.  Do  you  reckon 
after  he  gets  it  that  away  I  want  to  listen  to  yore  two 
tongues  a-waggin'  in  open  opposition  to  it?" 

Trabue  rubbed  his  hands  together.  "It  really  don't 
make  a  bit  of  difference  to  me,  Alan,  one  way  or  the 
other,"  he  said,  pacifically.  "I'm  only  acting  as  at 
torney  for  the  Tompkins  estate,  and  get  my  fee 
whether  there's  a  transfer  or  not.  That's  where  I 
stand  in  the  matter." 

"But  it's  not  whar  I  stand  in  it,  Mr.  Trabue,"  said 
a  firm  voice  in  the  doorway.  It  was  Mrs.  Bishop,  her 
blue  eyes  flashing,  her  face  pale  and  rigid.  "I  think 
I've  got  a  right — and  a  big  one — to  have  a  say-so  in 
this  kind  of  a  trade.  A  woman  'at 's  stayed  by  a  man's 
side  fer  thirty  odd  yeer  an'  raked  an'  scraped  to  he'p 
save  a  little  handful  o'  property  fer  her  two  children 
has  got  a  right  to  raise  a  rumpus  when  her  husband 
goes  crooked  like  Alfred  has  an'  starts  in  to  bankrupt 
'em  all  jest  fer  a  blind  notion  o'  his'n." 

"Oh,  thar  you  are!"  said  Bishop,  lifting  his  eyes 
from  the  paper  and  glaring  at  her  over  his  glasses. 
"I  knowed  I'd  have  to  have  a  knock-down-an'-drag- 
out  fight  with  you  'fore  I  signed  my  name,  so  sail  in 
an'  git  it  over.  Trabue  's  got  to  ride  back  to  town." 

5 


Abner   Daniel 

"  But  whar  in  the  name  o'  common-sense  is  the  money 
to  come  from?"  the  woman  hurled  at  her  husband, 
as  she  rested  one  of  her  bony  hands  on  the  edge  of  the 
table  and  glared  at  him.  "  As  I  understand  it,  thar's 
about  five  thousand  acres  in  this  piece  alone,  an'  yo're 
a-payin'  a  dollar  a  acre.  Whar's  it  a-comin'  from, 
I'd  like  to  know?  Whar's  it  to  come  from?" 

Bishop  sniffed  and  ran  a  steady  hand  over  his  short, 
gray  hair.  "You  see  how  little  she  knows  o'  my 
business,"  he  said  to  the  lawyer.  "Heer  she's  raisin' 
the  devil  an'  Tom  Walker  about  the  trade  an'  she 
don't  so  much  as  know  whar  the  money's  to  come 
from." 

"How  was  I  to  know?"  retorted  the  woman,  "when 
you've  been  tellin'  me  fer  the  last  six  months  that  thar 
wasn't  enough  in  the  bank  to  give  the  house  a  coat  o' 
fresh  paint  an'  patch  the  barn  roof." 

"You  knowed  I  had  five  thousand  dollars  wuth  o' 
stock  in  the  Shoal  River  Cotton  Mills,  didn't  you?" 
asked  Bishop,  defiantly,  and  yet  with  the  manner  of 
a  man  throwing  a  missile  which  he  hoped  would  fall 
lightly. 

"Yes,  I  knowed  that,  but — "  The  woman's  eyes 
were  two  small  fires  burning  hungrily  for  information 
beyond  their  reach. 

"Well,  it  happens  that  Shoal  stock  is  jest  the  same 
on  the  market  as  ready  money,  up  a  little  to-day  an' 
down  to-morrow,  but  never  varyin'  more'n  a  fraction 
of  a  cent  on  the  dollar,  an'  so  the  Tompkins  heirs 
say  they'd  jest  as  lieve  have  it,  an'  as  I'm  itchin'  to 
relieve  them  of  the'r  land,  it  didn't  take  us  long  to 
come  together." 

If  he  had  struck  the  woman  squarely  in  the  face, 
she  could  not  have  shown  more  surprise.  She  be 
came  white  to  the  lips,  and  with  a  low  cry  turned  to 
her  son.  "Oh,  Alan,  don't — don't  let  'im  do  it,  it's 

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Abner   Daniel 

all  we  have  left  that  we  can  depend  on!     It  will  ruin 
us!" 

"Why,  father,  surely,"  protested  Alan,  as  he  put 
his  arm  around  his  mother,  "  surely  you  can't  mean 
to  let  go  your  mill  investment  which  is  paying  fifteen 
per  cent,  to  put  the  money  into  lands  that  may  never 
advance  in  value  and  always  be  a  dead  weight  on 
your  hands!  Think  of  the  loss  of  interest  and  the 
taxes  to  be  kept  up.  Father,  you  must  listen  to — " 

"Listen  to  nothin',"  thundered  Bishop,  half  rising 
from  his  chair.  "Nobody  axed  you  two  to  put  in. 
It's  my  business  an'  I'm  a-goin'  to  attend  to  it.  I 
believe  I'm  doin'  the  right  thing,  an'  that  settles  it." 

"The  right  thing,"  moaned  the  old  woman,  as  she 
sank  into  a  chair  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 
"Mr.  Trabue,"  she  went  on,  fiercely,  "when  that  fac 
tory  stock  leaves  our  hands  we  won't  have  a  single 
thing  to  our  names  that  will  bring  in  a  cent  of  income. 
You  kin  see  how  bad  it  is  on  a  woman  who  has  worked 
as  hard  to  do  fer  her  children  as  I  have.  Mr.  Bishop 
always  said  Adele,  who  is  visitin'  her  uncle's  family 
in  Atlanta,  should  have  that  stock  for  a  weddin'-gift, 
ef  she  ever  married,  an'  Alan  was  to  have  the  lower 
half  of  this  farm.  Now  what  would  we  have  to  give 
the  girl — nothin'  but  thousands  o'  acres  o'  hills,  moun 
tains  an'  gulches  full  o'  bear,  wild -cats,  and  cata 
mounts — land  that  it  ud  break  any  young  couple  to 
hold  on  to — much  less  put  to  any  use.  Oh,  I  feel  per 
fectly  sick  over  it." 

There  was  a  heavy,  dragging  step  in  the  hall,  and  a 
long,  lank  man  of  sixty  or  sixty-five  years  of  age  paused 
in  the  doorway.  He  had  no  beard  except  a  tuft  of  gray 
hair  on  his  chin,  and  his  teeth,  being  few  and  far  be 
tween,  gave  to  his  cheeks  a  hollow  appearance.  He 
was  Abner  Daniel,  Mrs.  Bishop's  bachelor  brother, 
who  lived  in  the  family. 

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Abner   Daniel 

"Hello!"  he  exclaimed,  shifting  a  big  quid  of  to 
bacco  from  one  cheek  to  the  other;  "plottin'  agin  the 
whites?  Ef  you  are,  I'll  decamp,  as  the  feller  said 
when  the  bull  yeerlin'  butted  'im  in  the  small  o'  the 
back.  How  are  you,  Mr.  Trabue?  Have  they  run 
you  out  o'  town  fer  some  o'  yore  legal  rascality?" 

"I  reckon  your  sister  thinks  it's  rascality  that's 
brought  me  out  to-day,"  laughed  the  lawyer.  "We 
are  on  a  little  land  deal." 

"Oh,  well,  I'll  move  on,"  said  Abner  Daniel.  "I 
jest  wanted  to  tell  Alan  that  Rigg's  hogs  got  into  his 
young  corn  in  the  bottom  jest  now  an'  rooted  up  about 
as  many  acres  as  Pole  Baker's  ploughed  all  day.  Ef 
they'd  a-rooted  in  straight  rows  an'  not  gone  too  nigh 
the  stalks  they  mought  'a'  done  the  crap  more  good 
than  harm,  but  the'r  aim  or  intention,  one  or  t'other, 
was  bad.  Folks  is  that  away;  mighty  few  of  'em 
root — when  they  root  at  all — fer  anybody  but  the'r- 
se'ves.  Well,  I'll  git  along  to  my  room." 

"Don't  go,  brother  Ab,"  pleaded  his  sister.  "I 
want  you  to  he'p  me  stand  up  fer  my  rights.  Alfred 
Is  about  to  swap  our  cotton-mill  stock  fer  some  more 
wild  mountain-land." 

In  spite  of  his  natural  tendency  to  turn  everything 
into  a  jest — even  the  serious  things  of  life — the  sallow 
face  of  the  tall  man  lengthened.  He  stared  into  the 
faces  around  him  for  a  moment,  then  a  slow  twinkle 
dawned  in  his  eye. 

"I've  never  been  knowed  to  take  sides  in  any  con 
nubial  tustle  yet,"  he  said  to  Trabue,  in  a  dry  tone. 
"Alf  may  not  know  what  he's  about  right  now,  but 
he's  Solomon  hisse'f  compared  to  a  feller  that  will 
undertake  to  settle  a  dispute  betwixt  a  man  an'  his 
wife  —  more  especially  the  wife.  Geewhilikins !  I 
never  shall  forget  the  time  old  Jane  Hardeway  come 
heer  to  spend  a  week  an'  Alf  thar  an'  Betsy  split 

8 


Abner   Daniel 

over  buyin'  a  hat  -  rack  f  er  the  hall.  Betsy  had  seed 
one  over  at  Mason's,  at  the  camp-ground,  an'  deter 
mined  she'd  have  one.  Maybe  you  noticed  that  fancy 
contraption  in  the  hall  as  you  come  in.  Well,  Alf 
seed  a  nigger  unloadin'  it  from  a  wagon  at  the  door 
one  mornin',  an'  when  Betsy,  in  feer  an'  tremblin', 
told  'im  what  it  was  fer  he  mighty  nigh  had  a  fit.  He 
said  his  folks  never  had  been  above  hangin'  the'r 
coats  an'  hats  on  good  stout  nails  an'  pegs,  an'  as 
fer  them  umbrella-pans  to  ketch  the  drip,  he  said  they 
was  fancy  spit  -  boxes,  an'  wanted  to  know  ef  she  ex 
pected  a  body  to  do  the'r  chawin'  an'  smokin'  in  that 
windy  hall.  He  said  it  jest  should  not  stand  thar  with 
all  them  prongs  an'  arms  to  attack  unwary  folks  in 
the  dark,  an'  he  toted  it  out  to  the  buggy-shed.  That 
got  Betsy's  dander  up  an'  she  put  it  back  agin  the 
wall  an'  said  it  ud  stay  thar  ef  she  had  to  stand  behind 
it  an'  hold  it  in  place.  Alf  wasn't  done  yet ;  he  'lowed 
ef  they  was  to  have  sech  a  purty  trick  as  that  on  the 
hill  it  had  to  stay  in  the  best  room  in  the  house,  so 
he  put  it  heer  in  the  parlor  by  the  piano.  But  Betsy 
took  it  back  two  or  three  times  an'  he  larnt  that  he 
was  a-doin'  a  sight  o'  work  fer  nothin',  an'  finally  quit 
totin'  it  about.  But  that  ain't  what  I  started  in  to 
tell.  As  I  was  a-sayin',  old  Jane  Hardeway  thought 
she'd  sorter  put  a  word  in  the  dispute  to  pay  fer  her 
board  an'  keep,  an'  she  told  Betsy  that  it  was  all  owin' 
to  the  way  the  Bishops  was  raised  that  Alf  couldn't 
stand  to  have  things  nice  about  'im.  She  said  all  the 
Bishops  she'd  ever  knowed  had  a  natural  stoop  that 
they  got  by  livin'  in  cabins  with  low  roofs.  She 
wasn't  spreadin'  'er  butter  as  thick  as  she  thought  she 
was — ur  maybe  it  was  the  sort  she  was  spreadin ' — 
fer  Betsy  blazed  up  like  the  woods  afire  in  a  high 
wind.  It  didn't  take  old  Jane  long  to  diskiver  that 
thar  was  several  breeds  o'  Bishops  out  o'  jail,  an'  she 

9 


Abner   Daniel 

spent  most  o'  the  rest  o'  her  visit  braggin'  on  some 
she'd  read  about.  She  said  the  name  sounded  like 
the  start  of  'em  had  been  religious  an'  substanch." 

"Brother  Abner,"  whined  Mrs.  Bishop,  "I  wisht 
you'd  hush  all  that  foolishness  an'  help  me  'n  the  chil 
dren  out  o'  this  awful  fix.  Alfred  always  would  listen 
to  you." 

"Well,"  and  the  old  man  smiled,  and  winked  at 
the  lawyer,  "I'll  give  you  both  all  the  advice  I  kin. 
Now,  the  Shoal  River  stock  is  a  good  thing  right 
now ;  but  ef  the  mill  was  to  ketch  on  fire  an'  burn  down 
thar'd  be  a  loss.  Then  as  fer  timber-land,  it  ain't 
easy  to  sell,  but  it  mought  take  a  start  before  another 
flood.  I  say  it  mought,  an'  then  agin  it  moughtn't. 
The  mill  mought  burn,  an'  then  agin  it  moughtn't. 
Now,  ef  you-uns  kin  be  helped  by  this  advice  you  are 
welcome  to  it  free  o'  charge.  Not  changin'  the  sub 
ject,  did  you-uns  know  Mrs.  Richardson's  heffer's 
got  a  calf?  I  reckon  she  won't  borrow  so  much  milk 
after  hers  gits  good." 

Trabue  smiled  broadly  as  the  gaunt  man  withdrew; 
but  his  amusement  was  short-lived,  for  Mrs.  Bishop 
began  to  cry,  and  she  soon  rose  in  despair  and  left  the 
room.  Alan  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  the  un 
moved  face  of  his  father,  who  had  found  something  in 
the  last  clause  of  the  document  which  needed  explana 
tion;  then  he,  too,  went  out. 


n 

>LAN  found  his  uncle  on  the  back  porch 
washing  his  face  and  hands  in  a  basin 
on  the  water -shelf.  The  young  man 
leaned  against  one  of  the  wooden  posts 
which  supported  the  low  roof  of  the 
porch  and  waited  for  him  to  conclude 
the  puffing,  sputtering  operation,  which  he  finally  did 
by  enveloping  his  head  in  a  long  towel  hanging  fsom 
a  wooden  roller  on  the  weather-boarding. 

"Well/'  he  laughed,  "yore  uncle  Ab  didn't  better 
matters  in  thar  overly  much.  But  what  could  a  feller 
do?  Yore  pa's  as  bull-headed  as  a  young  steer,  an' 
he's  already  played  smash  anyway.  Yore  ma's  wastin' 
breath;  but  a  woman  seems  to  have  plenty  of  it  to 
spare.  A  woman's  tongue's  like  a  windmill — it  takes 
breath  to  keep  it  a-goin',  an'  a  dead  calm  ud  kill  her 
business." 

"It's  no  laughing  matter,  Uncle  Ab,"  said  Alan, 
despondently.  "Something  must  have  gone  wrong 
with  father's  judgment.  He  never  has  acted  this  way 
before." 

The  old  man  dropped  the  towel  and  thrust  his  long, 
almost  jointless  fingers  into  his  vest  pocket  for  a  horn 
comb  which  folded  up  like  a  jack-knife.  "I  was  jest 
a-wonderin',"  as  he  began  to  rake  his  shaggy  hair 
straight  down  to  his  eyes — "I  was  jest  a-wonderin' 
ef  he  could  'a'  bent  his  skull  in  a  little  that  time  his 
mule  th'owed  'im  agin  the  sweet-gum.  They  say  that 

II 


Abner   Daniel 

often  changes  a  body  powerful.  Folks  do  think  he's 
off  his  cazip  on  the  land  question,  an'  now  that  he's 
traded  his  best  nest-egg  fer  another  swipe  o'  the  earth's 
surface,  I  reckon  they'll  talk  harder.  But  yore  pa  ain't 
no  fool;  no  plumb  idiot  could  'a'  managed  yore  ma  as 
well  as  he  has.  You  see  I  know  what  he's  accom 
plished,  fer  I've  been  with  'em  ever  since  they  was 
yoked  together.  When  they  was  married  she  was  as 
wild  as  a  buck,  an'  certainly  made  our  daddy  walk  a 
chalk-line;  but  Alfred  has  tapered  'er  down  beautiful. 
She  didn't  want  this  thing  done  one  bit,  an'  yet  it  is 
settled  by  this  time" — the  old  man  looked  through 
the  hall  to  the  front  gate — "  yes,  Trabue's  unhitchin' ; 
he's  got  them  stock  certificates  in  his  pocket,  an'  yore 
pa  has  the  deeds  in  his  note-case.  When  this  gits  out, 
moss-backs  from  heer  clean  to  Gilmer  '11  be  trapsin'  in 
to  dispose  o'  land  at  so  much  a  front  foot." 

"  But  what  under  high  heaven  will  he  do  with  it  all?" 

"Hold  on  to  it,"  grinned  Abner,  "that  is,  ef  he  kin 
rake  an'  scrape  enough  together  to  pay  the  taxes. 
Why,  last  yeer  his  taxes  mighty  nigh  floored  'im, 
an'  the  expenses  on  this  county  he's  jest  annexed  will 
push  'im  like  rips;  fer  now,  you  know,  he'll  have  to 
do  without  the  income  on  his  factory  stock;  but  he 
thinks  he's  got  the  right  sow  by  the  yeer.  Before  long 
he  may  yell  out  to  us  to  come  he'p  'im  turn  'er  loose, 
but  he's  waltzin'  with  'er  now." 

At  this  juncture  Mrs.  Bishop  came  out  of  the  din 
ing-room  wiping  her  eyes  on  her  apron. 

"Mother,"  said  Alan,  tenderly,  "try  not  to  worry 
over  this  any  more  than  you  can  help." 

"Your  pa's  gettin'  old  an'  childish,"  whimpered 
Mrs.  Bishop.  "He's  heerd  somebody  say  timber- 
land  up  in  the  mountains  will  some  day  advance,  an' 
he  forgets  that  he's  too  old  to  get  the  benefit  of  it. 
He's  goin'  to  bankrupt  us." 

12 


Abner   Daniel 

"Ef  I  do,"  the  man  accused  thundered  from  the 
hall,  as  he  strode  out,  "  it  '11  be  my  money  that's  lost 
— money  that  I  made  by  hard  work." 

He  stood  before  them,  glaring  over  his  eye-glasses 
at  his  wife.  "  I've  had  enough  of  yore  tongue,  my 
lady;  ef  I'd  not  had  so  much  to  think  about  in  thar 
jest  now  I'd  'a'  shut  you  up  sooner.  Dry  up  now — not 
another  wordl  I'm  doin'  the  best  I  kin  accordin'  to 
my  lights  to  provide  fer  my  children,  an'  I  won't  be 
interfered  with." 

No  one  spoke  for  a  moment.  However,  Mrs.  Bishop 
finally  retorted,  as  her  brother  knew  she  would,  in  her 
own  time. 

"  I  don't  call  buyin'  thousands  o'  acres  o'  unsalable 
land  providin'  fer  anything,  except  the  pore-house," 
she  fumed. 

"  That's  beca'se  you  don't  happen  to  know  as  much 
about  the  business  as  I  do,"  said  Bishop,  with  a  satis 
fied  chuckle,  which,  to  the  observant  Daniel,  sounded 
very  much  like  exultation.  "  When  you  all  know 
what  I  know  you'll  be  laughin'  on  t'other  sides  o'  yore 
mouths." 

He  started  down  the  steps  into  the  yard  as  if  going 
to  the  row  of  bee-hives  along  the  fence,  but  paused 
and  came  back.  He  had  evidently  changed  his  mind. 
"  I  reckon,"  he  said,  "  I'll  jest  have  to  let  you  all  know 
about  this  or  I  won't  have  a  speck  o'  peace  from 
now  on.  I  didn't  tell  you  at  fust  beca'se  nobody  kin 
keep  a  secret  as  well  as  the  man  it  belongs  to,  an'  I 
was  afeerd  it  ud  leak  out  an'  damage  my  interests; 
but  this  last  five  thousand  acres  jest  about  sweeps  all 
the  best  timber  in  the  whole  Cohutta  section,  an'  I 
mought  as  well  let  up.  I  reckon  you  all  know  that  ef 
— I  say  ef — my  land  was  nigh  a  railroad  it  ud  be  low 
at  five  times  what  I  paid  fer  it,  don't  you?  Well,  then! 
The  long  an'  short  of  it  is  that  I  happen  to  be  on  the 

13 


Abner   Daniel 

inside  an'  know  that  a  railroad  is  goin'  to  be  run  from 
Blue  Lick  Junction  to  Barley.  It  '11  be  started  inside 
of  the  next  yeer  an'  '11  run  smack  dab  through  my 
property.  Thar  now,  you  know  more'n  you  thought 
you  did,  don't  you?" 

The  little  group  stared  into  his  glowing  face  incred 
ulously. 

"  A  railroad  is  to  be  built,  father?"  exclaimed  Alan. 

"That's  what  I  said." 

Mrs.  Bishop's  eyes  flashed  with  sudden  hope,  and 
then,  as  if  remembering  her  husband's  limitations, 
her  face  fell. 

"  Alfred,"  she  asked,  sceptically,  "  how  does  it  hap 
pen  that  you  know  about  the  railroad  before  other 
folks  does?" 

"  How  do  I?  That's  it  now— how  do  I?"  and  the  old 
man  laughed  freely.  "  I've  had  my  fun  out  o'  this  thing, 
listenin'  to  what  every  crank  said  about  me  bein'  cracked, 
an'  so  on;  but  I  was  jest  a-lyin'  low  waitin'  fer  my  time." 

"Well,  I'll  be  switched!"  ejaculated  Abner  Daniel, 
half  seriously,  half  sarcastically.  "Geewhilikins!  a 
railroad!  I've  always  said  one  would  pay  like  rips 
an'  open  up  a  dern  good,  God-fersaken  country.  I'm 
glad  you  are  a-goin'  to  start  one,  Alfred." 

Alan's  face  was  filled  with  an  expression  of  blended 
doubt  and  pity  for  his  father's  credulity.  "Father," 
he  said,  gently,  "  are  you  sure  you  got  your  informa 
tion  straight?" 

"I  got  it  from  headquarters."  The  old  man  raised 
himself  on  his  toes  and  knocked  his  heels  together,  a 
habit  he  had  not  indulged  in  for  many  a  year.  "It 
was  told  to  me  confidentially  by  a  man  who  knows  all 
about  the  whole  thing,  a  man  who  is  in  the  employ 
o'  the  company  that's  goin'  to  build  it." 

"Huh!"  the  exclamation  was  Abner  Daniel's,  "do 
you  mean  that  Atlanta  lawyer,  Perkins?" 

14 


Abner    Daniel 

Bishop  stared,  his  mouth  lost  some  of  its  pleased 
firmness,  and  he  ceased  the  motion  of  his  feet. 

"What  made  you  mention  his  name?"  he  asked, 
curiously. 

"Oh,  I  dunno;  somehow  I  jest  thought  o'  him.  He 
looks  to  me  like  he  mought  be  buildin'  a  railroad  ur 
two." 

"Well,  that's  the  man  I  mean/'  said  Bishop,  more 
uneasily. 

Somehow  the  others  were  all  looking  at  Abner  Dan 
iel,  who  grunted  suddenly  and  almost  angrily. 

"I  wouldn't  trust  that  skunk  no  furder  'n  I  could 
fling  a  bull  by  the  tail." 

"You  say  you  wouldn't?"  Bishop  tried  to  smile, 
but  the  effort  was  a  facial  failure. 

"I  wouldn't  trust  'im  nuther,  brother  Ab,"  chimed 
in  Mrs.  Bishop.  "As  soon  as  I  laid  eyes  on  'im  I 
knowed  he  wouldn't  do.  He's  too  mealy-mouthed 
an'  fawnin'.  Butter  wouldn't  melt  in  his  mouth;  he 
bragged  on  ever 'thing  we  had  while  he  was  heer. 
Now,  Alfred,  what  we  must  git  at  is,  what  was  his 
object  in  tellin'  you  that  tale." 

"Object?"  thundered  her  husband,  losing  his  tem 
per  in  the  face  of  the  awful  possibility  that  her  words 
hinted  at.  "Are  you  all  a  pack  an'  passle  o'  fools? 
If  you  must  dive  an'  probe,  then  I'll  tell  you  he  owns  a 
slice  o'  timber-land  above  Holley  Creek,  j'inin'  some  o' 
mine,  an'  so  he  let  me  into  the  secret  out  o'  puore  good 
will.  Oh,  you  all  cayn't  skeer  me;  I  ain't  one  o'  the 
skeerin'  kind." 

But,  notwithstanding  this  outburst,  it  was  plain 
that  doubt  had  actually  taken  root  in  the  ordinarily 
cautious  mind  of  the  crude  speculator.  His  face  length 
ened,  the  light  of  triumph  went  out  of  his  eyes,  leav 
ing  the  shifting  expression  of  a  man  taking  desperate 
chances. 

15 


Abner   Daniel 

A*bner  Daniel  laughed  out  harshly  all  at  once  and 
then  was  silent.  "What's  the  matter?"  asked  his  sis 
ter,  in  despair. 

"I  was  jest  a-wonderin',"  replied  her  brother. 

"You  are?"  said  Bishop,  angrily.  "It  seems  to  me 
you  don't  do  much  else." 

"  Folks  'at  wonders  a  lot  ain't  so  apt  to  believe  ever'- 
thing  they  heer,"  retorted  Abner.  "I  was  just  a-won- 
derin'  why  that  little,  spindle-shanked  Peter  Mosely 
has  been  holdin'  his  head  so  high  the  last  week  or  so. 
I'll  bet  I  could  make  a  durn  good  guess  now." 

"  What  under  the  sun's  Peter  Mosely  got  to  do  with 
my  business?"  burst  from  Bishop's  impatient  lips. 

"He's  got  a  sorter  roundabout  connection  with  it, 
I  reckon,"  smiled  Abner,  grimly.  "I  happen  to  know 
that  Abe  Tompkins  sold  'im  two  thousand  acres  o' 
timber-land  on  Huckleberry  Ridge  jest  atter  yore  At 
lanta  man  spent  the  day  lookin'  round  in  these  parts." 

Bishop  was  no  fool,  and  he  grasped  Abner's  mean 
ing  even  before  it  was  quite  clear  to  the  others. 

"Looky  heer,"  he  said,  sharply,  "what  do  you  take 
me  fur?" 

"I  'ain't  tuck  you  fer  nothin',"  said  Abner,  with  a 
grin.  "  Leastwise,  I  'ain't  tuck  you  fer  five  thousand 
dollars'  wuth  o'  cotton  -  mill  stock.  To  make  a  long 
story  short,  the  Atlanta  jack-leg  lawyer  is  akin  to  the 
Tompkins  family  some  way.  I  don't  know  exactly 
what  kin,  but  Joe  Tompkins's  wife  stayed  at  Perkins's 
house  when  she  was  down  thar  havin'  er  spine  straight 
ened.  I'd  bet  a  new  hat  to  a  ginger-cake  that  Perkins 
never  owned  a  spoonful  o'  land  up  heer,  an'  that  he's 
jest  he'pin'  the  Tompkins  folks  on  the  sly  to  unload 
some  o'  the'r  land,  so  they  kin  move  West,  whar  they've 
always  wanted  to  go.  Peter  Mosely  is  a  man  on  the 
watch-out  fer  rail  soft  snaps,  an'  when  Perkins  whis 
pered  the  big  secret  in  his  yeer,  like  he  did  to  you,  he 

16 


Abner   Daniel 

started  out  on  a  still  hunt  fer  timbered  land  on  the 
line  of  the  proposed  trunk  line  due  west  vy-ah  Lick- 
skillet  to  Barley,  with  stop-over  privileges  at  Buz 
zard  Roost,  an'  fifteen  minutes  fer  hash  at  Dog  Trot 
Springs.  Then,  somehow  or  other,  by  hook  or  crook 
— mostly  crook — Abe  Tompkins  wasn't  dodgin'  any 
body  about  that  time ;  Peter  Mosely  could  'a'  run  agin 
'im  with  his  eyes  shut  on  a  dark  night.  I  was  at 
Neil  Fulmore's  store  when  the  two  met,  an'  ef  a  trade 
was  ever  made  quicker  betwixt  two  folks  it  was  done 
by  telegraph  an'  the  paper  was  signed  by  lightnin'. 
Abe  said  he  had  the  land  an'  wouldn't  part  with  it  at 
any  price  ef  he  hadn't  been  bad  in  need  o'  money,  fer 
he  believed  it  was  chuck -full  o'  iron  ore,  soapstone, 
black  marble,  an'  water-power,  to  say  nothin'  o'  timber, 
but  he'd  been  troubled  so  much  about  cash,  he  said, 
that  he'd  made  up  his  mind  to  let  'er  slide  an'  the  devil 
take  the  contents.  I  never  seed  two  parties  to  a  deal 
better  satisfied.  They  both  left  the  store  with  a  strut. 
Mosely's  strut  was  the  biggest,  fer  he  wasn't  afeerd  o' 
nothin'.  Tompkins  looked  like  he  was  afeerd  Mosely 
ud  call  'im  back  an'  want  to  rue." 

"You  mean  to  say — "  But  old  Bishop  seemed 
unable  to  put  his  growing  fear  into  words. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  nothin'  fer  certain,"  said  Abner 
Daniel,  sympathetically;  " but  ef  I  was  you  I'd  go  down 
to  Atlanta  an'  see  Perkins.  You  kin  tell  by  the  way 
he  acts  whether  thar's  anything  in  his  railroad  story 
or  not ;  but,  by  gum,  you  ort  to  know  whar  you  stasd. 
You've  loaded  yorese'f  from  hind  to  fore  quarters,  an' 
ef  you  don't  plant  yore  feet  on  some'n  you'll  go  down." 

Bishop  clutched  this  proposition  as  a  drowning  man 
would  a  straw.  "Well,  I  will  go  see  'im,"  he  said. 
"I'll  go  jest  to  satisfy  you.  As  fer  as  I'm  concerned, 
I  know  he  wasn't  tellin'  me  no  lie;  but  I  reckon  you 
all  never  '11  rest  till  you  are  satisfied." 
*  17 


Abner   Daniel 

He  descended  the  steps  and  crossed  the  yard  to  the 
barn.  They  saw  him  lean  over  the  rail  fence  for  a 
moment  as  if  in  troubled  thought,  and  then  he  seemed 
to  shake  himself,  as  if  to  rid  himself  of  an  unpleasant 
mental  burden,  and  passed  through  the  little  sagging 
gate  into  the  stable  to  feed  his  horses.  It  was  now  noon. 
The  sun  was  shining  broadly  on  the  fields,  and  plough 
men  were  riding  their  horses  home  in  their  clanking 
harnesses. 

"Poor  father,"  said  Alan  to  his  uncle,  as  his  mother 
retired  slowly  into  the  house.  "He  seems  troubled, 
and  it  may  mean  our  ruin — absolute  ruin." 

"It  ain't  no  triflin'  matter,"  admitted  Daniel. 
"Thar's  no  tellin'  how  many  thousand  acres  he  may 
have  bought;  he's  keepin'  somethin'  to  hisse'f.  I 
remember  jest  when  that  durn  skunk  of  a  lawyer  put 
that  flea  in  his  yeer.  They  was  at  Hanson's  mill,  an' 
talked  confidential  together  mighty  nigh  all  mornin'- 
But  let's  not  cross  a  bridge  tell  we  git  to  it.  Let's 
talk  about  some'n  else.  I  hain't  never  had  a  chance 
to  tell  you,  but  I  seed  that  gal  in  town  yesterday,  an' 
talked  to  'er." 

"Did  you,  Uncle  Ab?"  the  face  of  the  young  man 
brightened.  His  tone  was  eager  and  expectant. 

"Yes,  I'd  hitched  in  the  wagon-yard  an'  run  into 
Hazen's  drug-store  to  git  a  box  o'  axle-grease,  an'  was 
comin'  out  with  the  durn  stuff  under  my  arm  when  I 
run  upon  'er  a-settin'  in  a  buggy  waitin'  to  git  a  clerk 
to  fetch  'er  out  a  glass  o'  sody-water.  She  recognized 
me,  an'  fer  no  other  earthly  reason  than  that  I'm  yore 
uncle  she  spoke  to  me  as  pleasin'  as  a  basket  o'  chips. 
What  was  I  to  do?  I  never  was  in  such  a  plight  in 
my  life.  I'd  been  unloadin'  side-meat  at  Bartow's 
warehouse,  an'  was  kivered  from  head  to  foot  with  salt 
and  grease.  I  didn't  have  on  no  coat,  an'  the  seat  o' 
my  pants  was  non  est — I  don't  think  thar  was  any  est 

18 


Abner   Daniel 

about  'em,  to  tell  the  truth ;  but  I  knowed  it  wouldn't 
be  the  part  of  a  gentleman  to  let  'er  set  thar  stretchin' 
'er  neck  out  o'  socket  to  call  a  clerk  when  I  was  handy, 
so  I  wheeled  about,  hopin'  an'  prayin'  ef  she  did  look 
at  me  she'd  take  a  fancy  to  the  back  o'  my  head,  an' 
went  in  the  store  an'  told  'em  to  git  a  hustle  on  the'r- 
se'ves.  When  I  come  out,  she  hauled  me  up  to  ax 
some  questions  about  when  camp-meetin'  was  goin' 
to  set  in  this  yeer,  and  when  Adele  was  comin'  home. 
I  let  my  box  o'  axle-grease  drap,  an'  it  rolled  like  a 
wagon-wheel  off  duty,  an'  me  after  it,  bendin' — bend- 
in'  of  all  positions — heer  an'  yan  in  the  most  ridicu 
lous  way.  I  tell  you  I'd  never  play  croquet  ur  leap 
frog  in  them  pants.  All  the  way  home  I  thought  how 
I'd  disgraced  you." 

"Oh,  you  are  all  right,  Uncle  Ab/'  laughed  Alan. 
"She's  told  me  several  times  that  she  likes  you  very 
much.  She  says  you  are  genuine — genuine  through 
and  through,  and  she's  right." 

"I'd  ruther  have  her  say  it  than  any  other  gal  I 
know,"  said  Abner.  "  She's  purty  as  red  shoes,  an', 
ef  I'm  any  judge,  she's  genuwine  too.  I've  got  another 
idee  about  'er,  but  I  ain't  a-givin'  it  away  jest  now." 

"You  mean  that  she — " 

"No,"  and  the  old  man  smiled  mischievously,  "I 
didn't  mean  nothin'  o'  the  sort.  I  wonder  how  on 
earth  you  could  'a'  got  sech  a  notion  in  yore  head.  I'm 
goin'  to  see  how  that  black  scamp  has  left  my  cotton 
land.  I'll  bet  he  hain't  scratched  it  any  deeper  'n  a 
old  hen  would  'a'  done  lookin'  fer  worms." 


Ill 

JHE   next  morning  at  breakfast  Alfred 
i  Bishop  announced  his  intention  of  go 
ing  to  Atlanta  to  talk  to  Perkins,  and 
!  incidentally  to  call  on  his  brother  Will 
iam,  who  was   a   successful  wholesale 
merchant  in  that  city. 
"I  believe  I  would/'  said  Mrs.   Bishop.     "Maybe 
William  will  tell  you  what  to  do." 

"I'd  see  Perkins  fust,"  advised  Abner  Daniel.  "Ef 
I  felt  shore  Perkins  had  buncoed  me  I'd  steer  cleer  o' 
William.  I'd  hate  to  heer  'im  let  out  on  that  subject. 
He's  made  his  pile  by  keepin'  a  sharp  lookout." 

"I  hain't  had  no  reason  to  think  I  have  been  lied 
to,"  said  Bishop,  doggedly,  as  he  poured  his  coffee 
into  his  saucer  and  shook  it  about  to  cool.  "A  body 
could  hear  his  death-knell  rung  every  minute  ef  he'd 
jest  listen  to  old  women  an' — " 

"Old  bachelors,"  interpolated  Abner.  "I  reckon 
they  are  alike.  The  longer  a  man  lives  without  a 
woman  the  more  he  gits  like  one.  I  reckon  that's 
beca'se  the  man  'at  lives  with  one  don't  see  nothin' 
wuth  copyin'  in  'er,  an'  vice-a-versy. " 

Mrs.  Bishop  had  never  been  an  appreciative  listener 
to  her  brother's  philosophy.  She  ignored  what  he 
had  just  said  and  its  accompanying  smile,  which  was 
always  Abner 's  subtle  apology  for  such  observations. 
"Are  you  goin'  to  tell  Adele  about  the  railroad?" 
she  asked. 

20 


Abner   Daniel 

"  I  reckon  I  won't  tell  'er  to  git  up  a'  excursion  over 
it,  'fore  the  cross-ties  is  laid,"  retorted  Bishop,  sharp 
ly,  and  Abner  Daniel  laughed — that  sort  of  response 
being  in  his  own  vein. 

"I  was  goin'  to  say,"  pursued  the  softly  treading 
wife,  "that  I  wouldn't  mention  it  to  'er,  ef — ef — Mr. 
Perkins  ain't  to  be  relied  on,  beca'se  she  worries 
enough  already  about  our  pore  way  o'  livin'  com 
pared  to  her  uncle's  folks.  Ef  she  knowed  how  I 
spent  last  night  she'd  want  to  come  back.  But  I  ain't 
a-goin'  to  let  brother  Ab  skeer  me  yet.  It  is  jest  too 
awful  to  think  about.  What  on  earth  would  we  do? 
What  would  we,  I  say?" 

That  afternoon  Bishop  was  driven  to  Darley  by  a 
negro  boy  who  was  to  bring  the  buggy  back  home. 
He  first  repaired  to  a  barber-shop,  where  he  was  shaved, 
had  his  hair  cut,  and  his  shoes  blacked ;  then  he  went 
to  the  station  half  an  hour  before  time  and  impatiently 
walked  up  and  down  the  platform  till  the  train  arrived. 

It  was  six  o'clock  when  he  reached  Atlanta  and 
made  his  way  through  the  jostling  crowd  in  the  big 
passenger  depot  out  into  the  streets.  He  had  his  choice 
of  going  at  once  to  the  residence  of  his  brother,  on 
Peachtree  Street,  the  most  fashionable  avenue  of  the 
city,  or  looking  up  Perkins  in  his  office.  He  decided 
to  unburden  his  mind  by  at  once  calling  on  the  lawyer, 
whose  office  was  in  a  tall  building  quite  near  at  hand. 

It  was  the  hour  at  which  Perkins  usually  left  for 
home,  but  the  old  planter  found  him  in. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  Mr.  Bishop,"  he  said,  suavely,  as  he 
rose  from  his  desk  in  the  dingy,  disordered  little  room 
with  its  single  window.  He  pushed  a  chair  forward. 
"Sit  down;  didn't  know  you  were  in  town.  At  your 
brother's,  I  reckon.  How  are  the  crops  up  the  road? 
Too  much  rain  last  month,  I'm  afraid." 

Bishop  sank  wearily  into  the  chair.  He  had  tired 

21 


Abner   Daniel 

himself  out  thinking  over  what  he  would  say  to  the 
man  before  him  and  with  the  awful  contemplation  of 
what  the  man  might  say  to  him. 

"They  are  doin'  as  well  as  can  be  expected/'  he 
made  answer ;  but  he  didn't  approve  of  even  that  plati 
tude,  for  he  was  plain  and  outspoken,  and  hadn't 
come  all  that  distance  for  a  mere  exchange  of  cour 
tesies.  Still,  he  lacked  the  faculty  to  approach  easily 
the  subject  which  had  grown  so  heavy  within  the  last 
twenty-four  hours,  and  of  which  he  now  almost  stood 
in  terror. 

"Well,  that's  good,"  returned  Perkins.  He  took  up 
a  pen  as  he  resumed  his  seat,  and  began  to  touch  it  idly 
to  the  broad  nail  of  his  thumb.  He  was  a  swarthy 
man  of  fifty -five  or  sixty,  rather  tall  and  slender, 
with  a  bald  head  that  sloped  back  sharply  from 
heavy,  jutting  brows,  under  which  a  pair  of  keen,  black 
eyes  shone  and  shifted.  "Come  down  to  see  your 
daughter,"  he  said.  "Good  thing  for  her  that  you 
have  a  brother  in  town.  By-the-way,  he's  a  fine  type 
of  a  man.  He's  making  headway,  too;  his  trade  is 
stretching  out  in  all  directions — funny  how  different 
you  two  are!  He  seems  to  take  to  a  swallow-tail  coat 
and  good  cigars  like  a  duck  to  water,  while  you  want 
the  open  sky  above  you,  sweet-smelling  fields  around, 
an'  fishing,  hunting,  sowing,  reaping,  and  chickens — 
fat,  juicy  ones,  like  your  wife  fried  when  I  was  there. 
And  her  apple-butter!  Ice-cream  can't  hold  a  candle 
to  it." 

"I  'lowed  I'd  see  William  'fore  I  went  back,"  said 
Bishop,  rather  irrelevantly,  and,  for  the  lack  of  some 
thing  else  to  do,  he  took  out  his  eye-glasses  and  perched 
them  on  his  sharp  nose,  only,  on  discovering  the  in- 
utility  of  the  act,  to  restore  them  clumsily  to  his  pocket. 
He  was  trying  to  persuade  himself,  in  the  silence  that 
followed,  that,  if  the  lawyer  had  known  of  his  trade 

22 


Abner   Daniel 

with  the  Tompkins  heirs,  he  would  naturally  have 
alluded  to  it.  Then,  seeing  that  Perkins  was  staring 
at  him  rather  fixedly,  he  said — it  was  a  verbal  plunge : 

"I  bought  some  more  timber-land  yesterday!" 

"Oh,  you  did?  That's  good."  Perkins's  eyes  flut 
tered  once  or  twice  before  his  gaze  steadied  itself  on 
the  face  of  the  man  before  him.  "Well,  as  I  told 
you,  Mr.  Bishop,  that  sort  of  a  thing  is  a  good  invest 
ment.  I  reckon  it's  already  climbing  up  a  little,  ain't 
it?" 

"Not  much  yet."  It  struck  Bishop  that  he  had 
given  the  lawyer  a  splendid  opportunity  to  speak  of 
the  chief  cause  for  an  advance  in  value,  and  his  heart 
felt  heavier  as  he  finished.  "But  I  took  quite  a  slice 
the  last  time — five  thousand  acres  at  the  old  figure, 
you  know — a  dollar  a  acre." 

"You  don't  say!     That  was  a  slice." 

Bishop  drew  himself  up  in  his  chair  and  inhaled  a 
deep  breath.  It  was  as  if  he  took  into  himself  in  that 
way  the  courage  to  make  his  next  remark. 

"I  got  it  from  the  Tompkins  estate." 

"You  don't  say.  I  didn't  know  they  had  that  much 
on  hand." 

There  was  a  certain  skill  displayed  in  the  lawyer's 
choice  of  questions  and  observations  that  somehow 
held  him  aloof  from  the  unlettered  man,  and  there  was, 
too,  something  in  his  easy,  bland  manner  that  defied 
the  open  charge  of  underhand  dealing,  and  yet  Bishop 
had  not  paid  out  his  railroad  fare  for  nothing.  He 
was  not  going  back  to  his  home-circle  no  wiser  than 
when  he  left  it.  His  next  remark  surprised  himself ;  it 
was  bluntness  hardened  by  despair. 

"Sence  I  bought  the  land  I've  accidentally  heerd 
that  you  are  some  kin  o'  that  family." 

Perkins  started  slightly  and  raised  his  brows. 

"Oh  yes;  on  my  wife's  side,  away  off,  some  way  or 

23 


Abner    Daniel 

other.  I  believe  the  original  Tompkins  that  settled 
there  from  Virginia  was  my  wife's  grandfather.  I 
never  was  much  of  a  hand  to  go  into  such  matters." 

The  wily  lawyer  had  erected  as  strong  a  verbal  fence 
as  was  possible  on  such  short  notice,  and  for  a  moment 
it  looked  as  if  Bishop's  frankness  would  not  attempt 
to  surmount  it ;  but  it  did,  in  a  fashion. 

"  When  I  heerd  that,  Perkins,  it  was  natural  fer  me 
to  wonder  why  you,  you  see — why  you  didn't  tell  them 
about  the  railroad." 

The  sallow  features  of  the  lawyer  seemed  to  stiffen. 
He  drew  himself  up  coldly  and  a  wicked  expression 
flashed  in  his  eyes. 

"  Take  my  advice,  old  man,"  he  snarled,  as  he  threw 
down  his  pen  and  stared  doggedly  into  Bishop's  face, 
"stick  to  your  farming  and  don't  waste  your  time 
asking  a  professional  lawyer  questions  which  have 
no  bearing  on  your  business  whatever.  Now,  really, 
do  I  have  to  explain  to  you  my  personal  reasons  for  not 
favoring  the  Tompkins  people  with  a — I  may  say — 
any  piece  of  information?" 

Bishop  was  now  as  white  as  death;  his  worst  sus 
picions  were  confirmed;  he  was  a  ruined  man;  there 
was  no  further  doubt  about  that.  Suddenly  he  felt 
unable  to  bridle  the  contemptuous  fury  that  raged 
within  him. 

"I  think  I  know  why  you  didn't  tell  'em,"  was  what 
he  hurled  at  the  lawyer. 

"You  think  you  do." 

"  Yes,  it  was  beca'se  you  knowed  no  road  was  goin' 
to  be  built.  You  told  Pete  Mosely  the  same  tale  you 
did  me,  an'  Abe  Tompkins  unloaded  on  'im.  That's 
a  way  you  have  o'  doin'  business." 

Perkins  stood  up.  He  took  his  silk  hat  from  the 
top  of  his  desk  and  put  it  on.  "Oh  yes,  old  man," 
he  sneered,  "I'm  a  terribly  dishonest  fellow;  but  I've 

24 


Abner   Daniel 

got  company  in  this  world.  Now,  really,  the  only 
thing  that  has  worried  me  has  been  your  unchristian 
act  in  buying  all  that  land  from  the  Tompkins  heirs  at 
such  a  low  figure  when  the  railroad  will  advance  its 
value  so  greatly.  Mr.  Bishop,  I  thought  you  were  a 
good  Methodist." 

"Oh,  you  kin  laugh  an'  jeer  all  you  like,"  cried 
Bishop,  "but  I  can  handle  you  fer  this." 

"You  are  not  as  well  versed  in  the  law  as  you  are 
in  fertilizers,  Mr.  Bishop,"  sneered  the  lawyer.  "In 
order  to  make  a  case  against  me,  you'd  have  to  pub 
licly  betray  a  matter  I  told  to  you  in  confidence,  and 
then  what  would  you  gain?  I  doubt  if  the  court  would 
force  me  to  explain  a  private  matter  like  this  where  the 
interests  of  my  clients  are  concerned.  And  if  the 
court  did,  I  could  simply  show  the  letters  I  have  regard 
ing  the  possible  construction  of  a  railroad  in  your  sec 
tion.  If  you  remember  rightly,  I  did  not  say  the  thing 
was  an  absolute  certainty.  On  top  of  all  this,  you'd 
be  obliged  to  prove  collusion  between  me  and  the  Tomp 
kins  heirs  over  a  sale  made  by  their  attorney,  Mr. 
Trabue.  There  is  one  thing  certain,  Mr.  Bishop,  and 
that  is  that  you  have  forfeited  your  right  to  any  further 
confidence  in  this  matter.  If  the  road  is  built  you'll 
find  out  about  it  with  the  rest  of  your  people.  You 
think  you  acted  wisely  in  attacking  me  this  way,  but 
you  have  simply  cut  off  your  nose  to  spite  your  face. 
Now  I  have  a  long  car-ride  before  me,  and  it's  grow 
ing  late." 

Bishop  stood  up.  He  was  quivering  as  with  palsy. 
His  voice  shook  and  rang  like  that  of  a  madman. 

"You  are  a  scoundrel,  Perkins,"  he  said — "a  dirty 
black  snake  in  the  grass.  I  want  to  tell  you  that." 

"Well,  I  hope  you  won't  make  any  charge  for  it." 

"No,  it's  free."  Bishop  turned  to  the  door.  There 
was  a  droop  upon  his  whole  body.  He  dragged  his 

25 


Abner    Daniel 

feet  as  he  moved  out  into  the  unlighted  corridor,  where 
he  paused  irresolutely.  So  great  was  his  agony  that 
he  almost  obeyed  an  impulse  to  go  back  and  fall  at 
the  feet  of  Perkins  and  implore  his  aid  to  rescue  him 
and  his  family  from  impending  ruin.  The  lawyer  was 
moving  about  the  room,  closing  his  desk  and  drawing 
down  the  window-shade.  Up  from  the  street  came  the 
clanging  of  locomotive  bells  under  the  car-shed,  the  whir 
of  street-cars,  the  clatter  of  cabs  on  the  cobble-stones. 

"It's  no  use/'  sighed  Bishop,  as  he  made  his  way 
down-stairs.  "I'm  ruined — Alan  an'  Adele  hain't  a 
cent  to  their  names,  an'  that  devil — "  Bishop  paused 
on  the  first  landing  like  an  animal  at  bay.  He  heard 
the  steady  step  of  Perkins  on  the  floor  above,  and  for  a 
moment  his  fingers  tingled  with  the  thought  of  wait 
ing  there  in  the  darkness  and  choking  the  life  out  of 
the  subtle  scoundrel  who  had  taken  advantage  of  his 
credulity. 

But  with  a  groan  that  was  half  a  prayer  he  went  on 
down  the  steps  and  out  into  the  lighted  streets.  At 
the  first  corner  he  saw  a  car  which  would  take  him  to 
his  brother's,  and  he  hastened  to  catch  it. 

William  Bishop's  house  was  a  modern  brick  struct 
ure,  standing  on  a  well -clipped  lawn  which  held  a 
gothic  summer-house  and  two  or  three  marble  statues. 
It  was  in  the  best  portion  of  the  avenue.  Reaching  it, 
the  planter  left  the  car  and  approached  the  iron  gate 
which  opened  on  to  the  granite  steps  leading  up  the 
terrace.  It  was  now  quite  dark  and  many  pedestrians 
were  hurrying  homeward  along  the  sidewalks.  Obey 
ing  a  sudden  impulse,  the  old  man  irresolutely  passed 
by  the  gate  and  walked  farther  up  the  street.  He 
wanted  to  gain  time,  to  think  whether  it  would  be  best 
for  him  in  his  present  state  of  mind  to  meet  those  fash 
ionable  relatives  —  above  all,  his  matter-of-fact,  pro 
gressive  brother. 

26 


Abner   Daniel 

"Somehow  I  don't  feel  one  bit  like  it,"  he  mused. 
"I  couldn't  tell  William.  He'd  think  I  wanted  to 
borrow  money  an'  ud  git  skeerd  right  off.  He  always 
was  afeerd  I'd  mismanage.  An'  then  I'd  hate  to  sp'ile 
Adele's  visit,  an'  she  could  tell  thar  was  some'n  wrong 
by  me  bein'  heer  in  sech  a  flurry.  I  reckon  I  do  show 
it.  How  could  a  body  he'p  it?  Oh,  my  Lord,  have 
mercy!  It's  all  gone,  all — all  me'n  Betsy  has  saved." 

He  turned  at  the  corner  of  his  brother's  property 
and  slowly  retraced  his  halting  steps  to  the  gate,  but 
he  did  not  pause,  continuing  his  way  back  towards 
the  station.  A  glance  at  the  house  showed  that  all 
the  lower  rooms  were  lighted,  as  well  as  the  big  pris 
matic  lamp  that  hung  over  the  front  door.  Bishop 
saw  forms  in  light  summer  clothing  on  the  wide  ve 
randa.  "I'll  bet  that  tallest  one  is  Sis,"  he  said,  pa 
thetically.  "  I  jest  wish  I  could  see  'er  a  little  while. 
Maybe  it  ud  stop  this  awful  hurtin'  a  little  jest  to  look 
at  'er  an'  heer  'er  laugh  like  she  always  did  at  home. 
She'd  be  brave;  she  wouldn't  cry  an'  take  on;  but  it 
would  hurt  'er  away  down  in  'er  heart,  especially  when 
she's  mixin'  with  sech  high-flyers  an'  money-spenders. 
Lord,  what  '11  I  do  fer  cash  to  send  'er  next  month? 
I'm  the  land-porest  man  in  my  county." 

As  he  went  along  he  passed  several  fashionable 
hotels,  from  which  orchestral  music  came.  Through 
the  plate-glass  windows  he  saw  men  and  women,  amid 
palms  and  flowers,  dining  in  evening  dress  and  spark 
ling  jewels. 

Reaching  the  station,  he  inquired  about  a  train  to 
Barley,  and  was  told  that  one  left  at  midnight.  He 
decided  to  take  it,  and  in  the  mean  time  he  would  have 
nothing  to  occupy  him.  He  was  not  hungry;  the 
travel  and  worry  had  killed  his  appetite;  but  he  went 
into  a  little  cafe  across  the  street  from  the  depot  and 
ordered  a  sandwich  and  a  cup  of  coffee.  He  drank 

27 


Abner   Daniel 

the  coffee  at  a  gulp,  but  the  food  seemed  to  stick  in  his 
throat.  After  this  he  went  into  the  waiting-room, 
which  was  thronged  with  tired  women  holding  babies 
in  their  arms,  and  roughly  clad  emigrants  with  packs 
and  oil-cloth  bags.  He  sat  in  one  of  the  iron-armed 
seats  without  moving  till  he  heard  his  train  an 
nounced,  and  then  he  went  into  the  smoking-car  and 
sat  down  in  a  corner. 

He  reached  Darley  at  half-past  three  in  the  morn 
ing  and  went  to  the  only  hotel  in  the  place.  The  sleepy 
night-clerk  rose  from  his  lounge  behind  the  counter 
in  the  office  and  assigned  him  to  a  room  to  which  a 
colored  boy,  vigorously  rubbing  his  eyes,  conducted 
him.  Left  alone  in  his  room,  he  sat  down  on  the  edge 
of  his  bed  and  started  to  undress,  but  with  a  sigh  he 
stopped. 

"  What's  the  use  o'  me  lyin'  down  almost  at  day 
break?"  he  asked  himself.  "I  mought  as  well  be  on 
the  way  home.  I  cayn't  sleep  nohow." 

Blowing  out  his  lamp,  he  went  down -stairs  and 
roused  the  clerk  again.  "  Will  I  have  to  pay  fer  that 
bed  ef  I  don't  use  it?"  he  questioned. 

"  Why,  no,  Mr.  Bishop,"  said  the  clerk. 

"Well,  I  believe  I'll  start  out  home." 

"Is  your  team  in  town?"  asked  the  clerk. 

"  The  team  I'm  a-goin'  to  use  is.  I'm  goin'  to  foot 
it.  I've  done  the  like  before  this." 

"Well,  it's  a  purty  tough  stretch,"  smiled  the  clerk. 
"But  the  roads  are  good." 


IV 

T  was  a  little  after  sunrise;  the  family 
had  just  left  the  breakfast-table  when 
Bishop  walked  in;  his  shoes  and  trou 
sers  were  damp  with  dew  and  covered 
jwith  the  dust  of  the  road.     His  wife 
|saw  him  entering  the  gate  and  called 
out  to  him  from  the  hall : 

"Well,  I  declare!     Didn't  you  go  to  Atlanta?" 
He  came  slowly  up  the  steps,  dragging  his  feet  after 
him.     He  had  the  appearance  of  a  man  beaten  by 
every  storm  that  could  fall  upon  a  human  being. 

"Yes,  I  went,"  he  said,  doggedly.  He  passed  her 
and  went  into  the  sitting-room,  where  his  brother-in- 
law  stood  at  the  fireplace  lighting  his  pipe  with  a  live 
coal  of  fire  on  the  tip  of  a  stick.  Abner  Daniel  looked 
at  him  critically,  his  brows  raised  a  little  as  he  puffed, 
but  he  said  nothing.  Mrs.  Bishop  came  in  behind  her 
husband,  sweeping  him  from  head  to  foot  with  her 
searching  eyes. 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you  walked  out  heer 
this  mornin',"  she  cried.  "Lord  have  mercy!" 

"I  don't  know  as  I've  prepared  any  set  speech  on 
the  subject,"  said  her  husband,  testily;  "but  I  walked. 
I  could  'a'  gone  to  a  livery  an'  ordered  out  a  team, 
but  I  believe  thar's  more'n  one  way  o'  wearin'  sack 
cloth  an'  ashes,  an'  the  sooner  I  begin  the  better  I'll  feel." 
Abner  Daniel  winked ;  the  scriptural  allusion  appeal 
ed  to  his  fancy,  and  he  smiled  impulsively. 

29 


Abner   Daniel 

"That  thar  is,"  he  said.  "Thar's  a  whole  way 
an'  a  half  way.  Some  folks  jest  wear  it  next  to  the 
skin  whar  it  don't  show,  with  broadcloth  ur  silk  on  the 
outside.  They  think  ef  it  scratches  a  little  that  '11 
satisfy  the  Lord  an'  hoodwink  other  folks.  But  I 
believe  He  meant  it  to  be  whole  hog  or  none." 

Mrs.  Bishop  was  deaf  to  this  philosophy.  "I  don't 
see/'  she  said,  in  her  own  field  of  reflection — "  I  don't 
see,  I  say,  how  you  got  to  Atlanta;  attended  to  busi 
ness  ;  seed  Adele ;  an'  got  back  heer  at  sunrise.  Why, 
Alfred—" 

But  Bishop  interrupted  her.  "Have  you  all  had 
prayers  yet?" 

"No,  you  know  we  hain't,"  said  his  wife,  wonder 
ing  over  his  strange  manner.  "I  reckon  it  can  pass 
jest  this  once,  bein'  as  you  are  tired  an'  hain't  had 
nothin'  to  eat." 

"No,  it  can't  pass,  nuther;  I  don't  want  to  touch  a 
mouthful ;  tell  the  rest  of  'em  to  come  in,  an'  you  fetch 
me  the  Book." 

"Well!"  Mrs.  Bishop  went  out  and  told  the  negro 
woman  and  her  daughter  to  stop  washing  the  dishes 
and  go  in  to  prayer.  Then  she  hurried  out  to  the 
back  porch,  where  Alan  was  oiling  his  gun. 

"  Something's  happened  to  yore  pa,"  she  said.  "  He 
acts  queer,  an'  says  sech  strange  things.  He  walked 
all  the  way  from  Darley  this  morning,  an'  now  wants 
to  have  prayers  'fore  he  touches  a  bite  o'  breakfast. 
I  reckon  we  are  ruined." 

"I'm  afraid  that's  it,"  opined  her  son,  as  he  put 
down  his  gun  and  followed  her  into  the  sitting-room. 
Here  the  two  negroes  stood  against  the  wall.  Abner 
Daniel  was  smoking  and  Bishop  held  the  big  family 
Bible  on  his  quivering  knees. 

"Ef  you  mean  to  keep  it  up,"  Abner  was  saying, 
argumentatively,  "all  right  an'  good;  but  I  don't 


Abner   Daniel 

believe  in  sudden  spurts  o'  worship.  My  bosses  is 
hitched  up  ready  to  haul  a  load  o'  bark  to  the  tan 
nery,  an'  it  may  throw  me  a  little  late  at  dinner;  but 
ef  you  are  a-goin'  to  make  a  daily  business  of  it  I'm 
with  you." 

"  I'm  a-goin'  to  be  regular  from  now  on/'  said  Bishop, 
slowly  turning  the  leaves  of  the  tome.  "  I  forgot  whar 
I  read  last." 

"You  didn't  finish  about  Samson  tyin'  all  them 
foxes'  tails  together,"  said  Abner  Daniel,  as  he  knocked 
the  hot  ashes  from  his  pipe  into  the  palm  of  his  hand 
and  tossed  them  into  the  chimney.  "That  sorter 
interested  me.  I  wondered  how  that  was  a-goin'  to 
end.  I'd  hate  to  have  a  passle  o'  foxes  with  torches 
to  the'r  tails  turned  loose  in  my  wheat  jest  'fore  cuttin' 
time.  It  must  'a'  been  a  sight.  I  wondered  how  that 
was  a-goin'  to  end." 

"  You'll  wonder  how  yo're  a-goin'  to  end  if  you  don't 
be  more  respectful,"  said  his  sister. 

"Like  the  foxes,  I  reckon,"  grinned  Abner,  "with 
a  eternal  torch  tied  to  me.  Well,  ef  I  am  treated  that 
away,  I'll  go  into  the  business  o'  destruction  an'  set 
fire  to  everything  I  run  across." 

"  Ain't  you  goin'  to  tell  us  what  you  did  in  Atlanta 
'fore  you  have  prayer?"  asked  Mrs.  Bishop,  almost 
resentfully. 

"  No,  I  hain't ! "  Bishop  snapped.  "  I'll  tell  you  soon 
enough.  I  reckon  I  won't  read  this  mornin';  let's 
pray." 

They  all  knelt  reverently,  and  yet  with  some  curiosity, 
for  Bishop  often  suited  his  prayers  to  important  occa 
sions,  and  it  struck  them  that  he  might  now  allude  to 
the  subject  bound  up  within  him. 

"Lord,  God  Almighty,"  he  began,  his  lower  lip 
hanging  and  quivering,  as  were  his  hands  clasped  in 
the  seat  of  his  chair,  "Thou  knowest  the  struggle 

31 


Abner   Daniel 

Thy  creatures  are  makin'  on  the  face  of  Thy  green 
globe  to  live  up  to  the  best  of  the'r  lights  an'  standards. 
As  I  bend  before  Thee  this  mornin'  I  realize  how  small 
a  bein'  I  am  in  Thy  sight,  an'  that  I  ort  to  bow  in 
humble  submission  to  Thy  will,  an'  I  do.  For  many 
yeers  this  family  has  enjoyed  Thy  bounteous  blessings. 
We've  had  good  health,  an'  the  influence  of  a  Bible- 
readin',  God-fearin'  community,  an'  our  childern  has 
been  educated  in  a  way  that  raised  'em  head  an'  shoul 
ders  above  many  o'  the'r  associates  an'  even  blood  kin. 
I  don't  know  exactly  whar  an'  how  I've  sinned ;  but  I 
know  I  have  displeased  Thee,  fer  Thy  scourge  has 
fallen  hard  an'  heavy  on  my  ambitions.  I  wanted  to 
see  my  boy  heer,  a  good,  obedient  son,  an'  my  daughter 
thar  in  Atlanta,  able  to  hold  the'r  heads  up  among 
the  folks  they  mix  with,  an'  so  I  reached  out.  Maybe 
it  was  forbidden  fruit  helt  out  by  a  snake  in  the  devil's 
service.  I  don't  know  —  Thou  knowest.  Anyways, 
I  steered  my  course  out  o'  the  calm  waters  o'  content 
an'  peace  o'  soul  into  the  whirlpool  rapids  o'  avarice 
an'  greed.  I  'lowed  I  was  in  a  safe  haven  an'  didn't 
dream  o'  the  storm-clouds  hangin'  over  me  till  they 
bust  in  fury  on  my  head.  Now,  Lord,  my  Father, 
give  them  hearts  of  patience  an'  forgiveness  fer  the 
blunders  of  Thy  servant.  What  I  done,  I  done  in  the 
bull-headed  way  that  I've  always  done  things;  but  I 
meant  good  an'  not  harm.  These  things  we  ask  in 
the  name  o'  Jesus  Christ,  our  blessed  Lord  an'  Master. 
Amen." 

During  the  latter  part  of  the  prayer  Mrs.  Bishop 
had  been  staring  at  her  husband  through  her  parted 
fingers,  her  face  pale  and  agitated,  and  as  she  rose 
her  eyes  were  glued  to  his  face. 

"  Now,  Alfred,"  she  said,  "  what  are  you  goin'  to 
tell  us  about  the  railroad?  Is  it  as  bad  as  brother 
Ab  thought  it  would  be?" 

32 


Abner   Daniel 

Bishop  hesitated.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had  even  then 
to  tear  himself  from  the  clutch  of  his  natural  stubborn 
ness.  He  looked  into  all  the  anxious,  waiting  faces 
before  he  spoke,  and  then  he  gave  in. 

"Ab  made  a  good  guess.  Ef  I'd  'a'  had  his  sense, 
or  Alan's,  I'd  'a'  made  a  better  trader.  It's  like  Ab 
said  it  was,  only  a  sight  wuss  —  a  powerful  sight 
wuss!" 

"Wuss?"  gasped  his  wife,  in  fresh  alarm.  "How 
could  it  be  wuss?  Why,  brother  Ab  said — " 

"I  never  have  told  you  the  extent  o'  my  dealin's," 
went  on  Bishop  in  the  current  of  confession.  "  I 
never  even  told  Perkins  yesterday.  Fust  an'  last 
I've  managed  to  rake  in  fully  twenty  thousand  acres 
o'  mountain-land.  I  was  goin'  on  what  I  'lowed  was 
a  dead-shore  thing.  I  secured  all  I  could  lay  my  hands 
on,  an'  I  did  it  in  secret.  I  was  afeerd  even  to  tell  you 
about  what  Perkins  said,  thinkin'  it  mought  leak  out 
an'  sp'ile  my  chances." 

"But,  father,"  said  Alan,  "you  didn't  have  enough 
money  to  buy  all  that  land." 

"I  got  it  up" — Bishop's  face  was  doggedly  pale, 
almost  defiant  of  his  overwhelming  disaster — "  I  mort 
gaged  this  farm  to  get  money  to  buy  Maybry  and 
Morton's  four  thousand  acres." 

"  The  farm  you  was  going  to  deed  to  Alan?"  gasped 
his  wife.  "You  didn't  include  that?" 

"Not  in  that  deal,"  groaned  Bishop.  "I  swapped 
that  to  Phil  Parsons  fer  his  poplar  an'  cypress  belt." 

The  words  seemed  to  cut  raspingly  into  the  silence 
of  the  big  room.  Abner  Daniel  was  the  only  one  who 
seemed  unmoved  by  the  confession.  He  filled  his  pipe 
from  the  bowl  on  the  mantel-piece  and  pressed  the  to 
bacco  down  with  his  forefinger;  then  he  kicked  the 
ashes  in  the  chimney  till  he  uncovered  a  small  live 
coal.  He  eyed  it  for  a  moment,  then  dipped  it  up 
>  33 


Abner   Daniel 

in  the  shovel,  rolled  it  into  his  pipe,  and  began  to 
smoke. 

"So  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  git  no  yeerly  pass  over  the 
new  road/'  he  said,  his  object  being  to  draw  his  brother- 
in-law  back  to  Perkins's  action  in  the  matter. 

"Perkins  was  a-lyin'  to  me,"  answered  Bishop. 
"He  hain't  admitted  it  yet;  but  he  was  a-lyin'.  His 
object  was  to  he'p  the  Tompkins  sell  out  fer  a  decent 
price,  but  he  can't  be  handled;  he's  got  me  on  the  hip." 

"No,"  said  Abner.  "I'd  ruther  keep  on  swappin' 
gold  dollars  fer  mountain  -  land  an'  lettin'  it  go  fer 
taxes  'an  to  try  to  beat  a  lawyer  at  his  own  game. 
A  court-house  is  like  the  devil's  abode,  easy  to  git 
into,  no  outlet,  an'  nothin'  but  scorch  while  you  are 
thar." 

"Hush,  fer  the  name  o'  goodness!"  cried  Mrs.  Bish 
op,  looking  at  her  husband.  "Don't  you  see  he's 
dyin'  from  it?  Are  you  all  a-goin'  to  kill  'im?  What 
does  a  few  acres  o'  land  ur  debts  amount  to  beside 
killin'  a  man  'at's  been  tryin'  to  help  us  all?  Alfred, 
it  ain't  so  mighty  awful.  You  know  it  ain't!  What 
did  me  'n'  you  have  when  we  started  out  but  a  log- 
house  boarded  up  on  the  outside?  an'  now  we've  got 
our  childern  educated  an'  all  of  us  in  good  health.  I 
railly  believe  it's  a  sin  agin  God's  mercy  fer  us  to 
moan  an'  fret  under  a  thing  like  this." 

"That's  the  talk,"  exclaimed  Abner  Daniel,  enthu 
siastically.  "  Now  you  are  gittin'  down  to  brass  tacks. 
I've  always  contended — " 

"  For  God's  sake,  don't  talk  that  way!"  said  Bishop 
to  his  wife.  "  You  don't  mean  a  word  of  it.  You  are 
jest  a-sayin'  it  to  try  to  keep  me  from  seein'  what  a 
fool  I  am." 

"You  needn't  worry  about  me,  father,"  said  Alan, 
firmly.  "  I  am  able  to  look  out  for  myself  an'  for  you 
and  mother.  It's  done,  and  the  best  thing  to  do  is  to 

34 


Abner   Daniel 

look  at  it  in  a  sensible  way.  Besides,  a  man  with 
twenty  thousand  acres  of  mountain  -  land  paid  for  is 
not  broken,  by  a  long  jump." 

"Yes,  I'm  gone,"  said  Bishop,  a  wavering  look  of 
gratitude  in  his  eye  as  he  turned  to  his  son.  "I  fig 
ured  on  it  all  last  night.  I  can't  pay  the  heavy  in 
terest  an'  come  out.  I  was  playin'  for  big  stakes 
an'  got  left.  Thar's  nothin'  to  do  but  give  up.  Me 
buyin'  so  much  land  has  made  it  rise  a  little,  but 
when  I  begin  to  try  to  sell  I  won't  be  able  to  give  it 
away." 

"Thar's  some'n  in  that,"  opined  Abner  Daniel,  as 
he  turned  to  leave  the  room.  "I  reckon  I  mought  as 
well  go  haul  that  tan-bark.  I  reckon  you  won't  move 
out  'fore  dinner." 

Alan  followed  him  out  to  the  wagon. 

"It's  pretty  tough,  Uncle  Ab,"  he  said.  "I  hadn't 
the  slightest  idea  it  was  so  bad." 

"I  wasn't  so  shore,"  said  Daniel.  "But  I  was  jest 
a-thinkin'  in  thar.  You've  got  a  powerful  good  friend 
in  Rayburn  Miller.  He's  the  sharpest  speculator  in 
North  Georgia;  ef  I  was  you,  I'd  see  him  an'  lay  the 
whole  thing  before  him.  He'll  be  able  to  give  you 
good  advice,  an'  I'd  take  it.  A  feller  that's  made  as 
much  money  as  he  has  at  his  age  won't  give  a  friend 
bad  advice." 

"I  thought  of  him,"  said  Alan;  "but  I  am  a  little 
afraid  he  will  think  we  want  to  borrow  money,  and 
he  never  lets  out  a  cent  without  the  best  security." 

"  Well,  you  needn't  be  afeerd  on  that  score,"  laughed 
the  old  man,  as  he  reached  up  on  the  high  wagon- 
seat  for  his  whip.  "  I  once  heerd  'im  say  that  business 
an'  friendship  wouldn't  mix  any  better 'noil  an'  water." 


/HE  following  Saturday  Alan  went  to 
'Darley,  as  he  frequently  did,  to  spend 
.Sunday.  On  such  visits  he  usually 
i  stayed  at  the  Johnston  House,  a  great, 
!  old  -  fashioned  brick  building  that  had 
i  survived  the  Civil  War  and  remained 
untouched  by  the  shot  and  shell  that  hurtled  over  it 
during  that  dismal  period  when  most  of  the  popu 
lation  had  "refugeed  farther  south."  It  had  four 
stories,  and  was  too  big  for  the  town,  which  could 
boast  of  only  twro  thousand  inhabitants,  one -third  of 
whom  were  black.  However,  the  smallness  of  the  town 
was  in  the  hotel's  favor,  for  in  a  place  where  no  one 
would  have  patronized  a  second-class  hotel,  opposition 
would  have  died  a  natural  death.  The  genial  pro 
prietor  and  his  family  were  of  the  best  blood,  and  the 
Johnston  House  was  a  sort  of  social  club-house,  where 
the  church  people  held  their  affairs  and  the  less  seri 
ous  element  gave  dances.  To  be  admitted  to  the  hotel 
without  having  to  pay  for  one's  dinner  was  the  hall 
mark  of  social  approval.  It  was  near  the  ancient-look 
ing  brick  car-shed  under  which  the  trains  of  two  main 
lines  ran,  and  a  long  freight  warehouse  of  the  same 
date  and  architecture.  Around  the  hotel  were  clus 
tered  the  chief  financial  enterprises  of  the  town — its 
stores,  post-office,  banks,  and  a  hall  for  theatrical 
purposes.  Darley  was  the  seat  of  its  county,  and 
another  relic  of  the  days  before  the  war  was  its  court- 


Abner   Daniel 

house.  The  principal  sidewalks  were  paved  with  brick, 
which  in  places  were  damp  and  green,  and  some 
times  raised  above  their  common  level  by  the  under- 
growing  roots  of  the  sycamore  -  trees  that  edged  the 
streets. 

In  the  office  of  the  hotel,  just  after  registering  his 
name,  Alan  met  his  friend  Rayburn  Miller,  for  whose 
business  ability,  it  may  be  remembered,  Abner  Daniel 
had  such  high  regard.  He  was  a  fine-looking  man  of 
thirty  -  three,  tall  and  of  athletic  build;  he  had  dark 
eyes  and  hair,  and  a  ruddy,  out-door  complexion 

"  Hello,"  he  said,  cordially.  "  I  thought  you  might 
get  in  to-day,  so  I  came  round  to  see.  Sorry  you've 
taken  a  room.  I  wanted  you  to  sleep  with  me  to-night. 
Sister's  gone,  and  no  one  is  there  but  the  cook.  Hello, 
I  must  be  careful.  I'm  drumming  for  business  right 
under  Sanford's  nose." 

"I'll  make  you  stay  with  me  to  make  up  for  it," 
said  Alan,  as  the  clerk  behind  the  counter  laughed 
good-naturedly  over  the  allusion  to  himself. 

"Blamed  if  I  don't  think  about  it,"  said  Miller. 
"Come  round  to  the  office.  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  I 
reckon  you've  got  every  plough  going  such  weather 
as  this." 

"  Took  my  horse  out  of  the  field  to  drive  over,"  said 
Alan,  as  they  went  out  and  turned  down  to  a  side 
street  where  there  was  a  row  of  law  offices,  all  two- 
roomed  buildings,  single  -  storied,  built  of  brick,  and 
bearing  battered  tin  signs.  One  of  these  buildings  was 
Miller's,  which,  like  all  its  fellows,  had  its  door  wide 
open,  thus  inviting  all  the  lawyers  in  the  "row "and 
all  students  of  law  to  enter  and  borrow  books  or  use 
the  ever-open  desk. 

Rayburn  Miller  was  a  man  among  ten  thousand  In 
his  class.  Just  after  being  graduated  at  the  State 
University  he  was  admitted  to  the  bar  and  took  up 

37 


Abner  Daniel 

the  practice  of  law.  He  could  undoubtedly  have  made 
his  way  at  this  alone,  had  not  other  and  more  absorb 
ing  talents  developed  within  him.  Having  had  a  few 
thousand  dollars  left  him  at  his  father's  death,  he 
began  to  utilize  this  capital  in  "note  shaving,"  and 
other  methods  of  turning  over  money  for  a  handsome 
profit  furnished  by  the  unsettled  conditions,  the  time, 
and  locality.  He  soon  became  an  adept  in  many  lines 
of  speculation,  and  as  he  was  remarkably  shrewd  and 
cautious,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  he  soon  ac 
cumulated  quite  a  fortune. 

"Take  a  seat,"  he  said  to  Alan,  as  they  went  into 
the  office,  and  he  threw  himself  into  the  revolving- 
chair  at  his  littered  desk.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  I 
suppose  you  are  in  for  some  fun.  The  boys  are  getting 
up  a  dance  at  the  hotel  and  they  want  your  dollar  to 
help  pay  the  band.  It's  a  good  one  this  time.  They've 
ordered  it  from  Chattanooga.  It  will  be  down  on  the 
seven-thirty-five.  Got  a  match?" 

Alan  had  not,  and  Miller  turned  his  head  to  the 
open  door.  An  old  negro  happened  to  be  passing, 
with  an  axe  on  his  shoulder. 

"Heigh,  there,  Uncle  Ned!"  Miller  called  out. 

The  negro  had  passed,  but  he  heard  his  name  called 
and  he  came  back  and  looked  in  at  the  door. 

"Want  me,  Marse  Rayburn?" 

"Yes,  you  old  scamp;  get  me  a  match  or  I'll  shoot 
the  top  of  your  head  off." 

"All  right,  suh;  all  right,  Marse  Rayburn!" 

"  You  ought  to  know  him,"  said  Miller,  with  a  smile, 
as  the  negro  hurried  into  the  adjoining  office.  "His 
wife  cooks  for  Colonel  Barclay;  he  might  tell  you  if 
Miss  Dolly's  going  to-night,  but  I  know  she  is.  Frank 
Hillhouse  checked  her  name  off  the  list,  and  I  heard  him 
say  she'd  accepted.  By-the-way,  that  fellow  will  do  to 
watch.  I  think  he  and  the  Colonel  are  pretty  thick." 

38 


Abner   Daniel 

"  Will  you  never  let  up  on  that?"  Alan  asked  with  a 
flush. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  shall/'  laughed  Rayburn. 
"  It  seems  so  funny  to  see  you  in  love,  or,  rather,  to  see 
you  think  you  are." 

"  I  have  never  said  I  was,"  said  Alan,  sharply. 

"But  you  show  it  so  blamed  plain,"  said  Miller. 

"Heer  'tis,  Marse  Rayburn.  Marse  Trabue  said 
you  could  have  a  whole  box  ef  you'd  put  up  wid  sul 
phur  ones." 

Miller  took  the  matches  from  the  outstretched  hand 
and  tossed  a  cigar  to  Alan.  "Say,  Uncle  Ned,"  he 
asked,  "do  you  know  that  gentleman?"  indicating 
Alan  with  a  nod  of  his  head. 

A  quizzical  look  dawned  in  the  old  negro's  eyes, 
and  then  he  gave  a  resounding  guffaw  and  shook 
all  over. 

"I  reckon  I  know  his  hoss,  Marse  Rayburn,"  he 
tittered. 

"That's  a  good  one  on  you,  Alan,"  laughed  Miller. 
"He  knows  your  'hoss/  I'll  have  to  spring  that  on 
you  when  I  see  you  two  together." 

As  the  negro  left  the  office  Mr.  Trabue  leaned  in 
the  doorway,  holding  his  battered  silk  hat  in  his  hand 
and  mopping  his  perspiring  face. 

He  nodded  to  Alan,  and  said  to  Miller:  "Do  you 
want  to  write?" 

"Not  any  more  for  you,  thanks,"  said  Miller.  "I 
have  the  back-ache  now  from  those  depositions  I  made 
out  for  you  yesterday." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  that,"  the  old  lawyer  assured 
him,  "  but  I  had  to  borrow  yore  ink  just  now,  and  seein' 
you  at  yore  desk  I  thought  you  might  need  it." 

"Oh,  if  I  do,"  jested  Miller,  "I  can  buy  another 
bottle  at  the  book-store.  They  pay  me  a  commission 
on  the  ink  I  furnish  the  row.  They  let  me  have  it 

39 


Abner  Daniel 

cheap  by  the  case.  What  stumps  me  is  that  you  looked 
in  to  see  if  I  needed  it.  You  are  breaking  the  rule, 
Mr.  Trabue.  They  generally  make  me  hunt  for  my 
office  furniture  when  I  need  it.  They've  borrowed 
everything  I  have  except  my  iron  safe.  Their  igno 
rance  of  the  combination,  its  weight,  and  their  con 
firmed  laziness  is  all  that  saved  it." 

When  the  old  lawyer  had  gone  the  two  friends  sat 
and  smoked  in  silence  for  several  minutes.  Alan  was 
studying  Miller's  face.  Something  told  him  that  the 
news  of  his  father's  disaster  had  reached  him,  and  that 
Miller  was  going  to  speak  of  it.  He  was  not  mistaken, 
for  the  lawyer  soon  broached  the  subject 

"I've  been  intending  to  ride  out  to  see  you  almost 
every  day  this  week/'  he  said,  "but  business  has  al 
ways  prevented  my  leaving  town." 

"  Then  you  have  heard — " 

"  Yes,  Alan,  I'm  sorry,  but  it's  all  over  the  country. 
A  man's  bad  luck  spreads  as  fast  as  good  war  news. 
I  heard  it  the  next  day  after  your  father  returned  from 
Atlanta,  and  saw  the  whole  thing  in  a  flash.  The 
truth  is,  Perkins  had  the  cheek  to  try  his  scheme  on 
me.  I'm  the  first  target  of  every  scoundrel  who  has 
something  to  sell,  and  I've  learned  many  of  their  tricks. 
I  didn't  listen  to  all  he  had  to  say,  but  got  rid  of  him 
as  soon  as  I  could.  You  must  not  blame  the  old  man. 
As  I  see  it  now,  it  was  a  most  plausible  scheme,  and 
the  shame  of  it  is  that  no  one  can  be  handled  for  it. 
I  don't  think  the  Tompkins  heirs  knew  anything  of 
Perkins's  plans  at  all,  except  that  he  was  to  get  a  com 
mission,  perhaps,  if  the  property  was  sold.  Trabue 
is  innocent,  too— a  cat's-paw.  As  for  Perkins,  he  has 
kept  his  skirts  clear  of  prosecution.  Your  father  will 
have  to  grin  and  bear  it.  He  really  didn't  pay  a  fabu 
lous  price  for  the  land,  and  if  he  were  in  a  condition  to 
hold  on  to  it  for,  say,  twenty-five  years,  he  might  not 

40 


Abner   Daniel 

lose  money;  but  who  can  do  that  sort  of  thing?  I 
have  acres  and  acres  of  mountain-land  offered  me  at 
a  much  lower  figure,  but  what  little  money  I've  made 
has  been  made  by  turning  my  capital  rapidly.  Have 
you  seen  Dolly  since  it  happened?" 

"No,  not  for  two  weeks,"  replied  Alan.  "I  went  to 
church  with  her  Sunday  before  last,  and  have  not 
seen  her  since.  I  was  wondering  if  she  had  heard 
about  it." 

"Oh  yes;  she's  heard  it  from  the  Colonel.  It  may 
surprise  you,  but  the  thing  has  rubbed  him  the  wrong 
way." 

"  Why,  I  don't  understand,"  exclaimed  Alan.  "  Has 
he—" 

"  The  old  man  has  had  about  two  thousand  acres  of 
land  over  near  your  father's  purchases,  and  it  seems 
that  he  was  closely  watching  all  your  father's  deals, 
and,  in  spite  of  his  judgment  to  the  contrary,  Mr. 
Bishop's  confidence  in  that  sort  of  real-estate  has  made 
him  put  a  higher  valuation  on  his  holdings  over  there. 
So  you  see,  now  that  your  father's  mistake  is  common 
talk,  he  is  forced  to  realize  a  big  slump,  and  he  wants 
to  blame  some  one  for  it.  I  don't  know  but  that  your 
father  or  some  one  else  made  him  an  offer  for  his  land 
which  he  refused.  So  you  see  it  is  only  natural  for 
him  to  be  disgruntled." 

"I  see,"  said  Alan.  "I  reckon  you  heard  that  from 
Miss  Dolly?" 

Miller  smoked  slowly. 

"Yes" — after  a  pause — "I  dropped  in  there  night 
before  last  and  she  told  me  about  it.  She's  not  one 
of  your  surface  creatures.  She  talks  sensibly  on  all 
sorts  of  subjects.  Of  course,  she's  not  going  to  show 
her  heart  to  me,  but  she  couldn't  hide  the  fact  that  your 
trouble  was  worrying  her  a  good  deal.  I  think  she'd 
like  to  see  you  at  the  ball  to-night.  Frank  Hillhouse 

41 


Abner   Daniel 

will  give  you  a  dance  or  two.  He's  going  to  be  hard 
to  beat.  He's  the  most  attentive  fellow  I  ever  run 
across.  He's  got  a  new  buggy — a  regular  hug-me- 
tight  —  and  a  high  -  stepping  Kentucky  mare  for  the 
summer  campaign.  He'll  have  some  money  at  his 
father's  death,  and  all  the  old  women  say  he's  the 
best  catch  in  town  because  he  doesn't  drink,  has  a 
Sunday-school  class,  and  will  have  money.  We  are 
all  going  to  wear  evening-suits  to-night.  There  are 
some  girls  from  Rome  visiting  Hattie  Alexander,  and 
we  don't  want  them  to  smell  hay  in  our  hair.  You 
know  how  the  boys  are;  unless  all  of  us  wear  spike- 
tails  no  one  will,  so  we  took  a  vote  on  it  and  we'll  be 
on  a  big  dike.  There'll  be  a  devilish  lot  of  misfits. 
Those  who  haven't  suits  are  borrowing  in  all  direc 
tions.  Frank  Buford  will  rig  out  in  Colonel  Day's  ante 
bellum  toggery.  Did  you  bring  yours?" 

"It  happens  to  be  at  Parker's  shop,  being  pressed," 
said  Alan. 

"  I've  had  three  in  the  last  six  years,"  laughed  Miller. 
"You  know  how  much  larger  Todd  Selman  is  than  I 
am;  he  bursted  one  of  mine  from  collar  to  waist  last 
summer  at  the  Springs,  and  sweated  so  much  that 
you  could  dust  salt  out  of  it  for  a  month  afterwards. 
I  can't  refuse  'em,  God  bless  'em!  Jeff  Higgins  mar 
ried  in  my  best  Prince  Albert  last  week  and  spilled 
boiled  custard  on  it;  but  he's  got  a  good  wife  and  a 
fair  job  on  a  railroad  in  Tennessee  now.  I'd  have 
given  him  the  coat,  but  he'd  never  have  accepted  it, 
and  been  mad  the  rest  of  his  life  at  my  offer.  Parker 
said  somebody  had  tried  to  scrape  the  custard  off  with 
a  sharp  knife,  and  that  he  had  a  lot  of  trouble  cleaning 
it.  I  wore  the  coat  yesterday  and  felt  like  I  was  go 
ing  to  be  married.  Todd  must  have  left  some  of  his 
shivers  in  it.  I  reckon  that's  as  near  as  I'll  ever  come 
to  the  hitching-post." 

42 


Abner    Daniel 

Just  then  a  tall,  thin  man  entered.  He  wore  a  rather 
threadbare  frock-coat,  unevenly  bound  with  braid,  and 
had  a  sallow,  sunken,  and  rather  long  face.  It  was 
Samuel  Craig,  one  of  the  two  private  bankers  of  the 
town.  He  was  about  sixty  years  of  age  and  had  a 
pronounced  stoop. 

"Hello!"  he  said,  pleasantly;  "you  young  bloods 
are  a-goin'  to  play  smash  with  the  gals'  hearts  to-night, 
I  reckon.  I  say  go  it  while  you  are  young.  Ray- 
burn,  I  want  to  get  one  of  them  iron-clad  mortgage- 
blanks.  I've  got  a  feller  that  is  disposed  to  wiggle, 
an'  I  want  to  tie  'im  up.  The  inventor  of  that  form  is 
a  blessing  to  mankind." 

"Help  yourself,"  smiled  Miller.  "I  was  just  telling 
Mr.  Trabue  that  I  was  running  a  stationery  store,  and 
if  I  was  out  of  anything  in  the  line  I'd  order  it  for 
him." 

The  banker  laughed  good-humoredly  as  he  selected 
several  of  the  blanks  from  the  drawer  Rayburn  had 
opened  in  the  desk. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  complain  as  much  of  hard  times 
as  Jake  Pitner  does,"  he  chuckled.  "I  passed  his 
store  the  other  day,  where  he  was  standin'  over  some 
old  magazines  that  he'd  marked  down. 

"How's  trade?'  I  asked  'im.  'It's  gone  clean  to 
hell,'  he  said,  and  I  noticed  he'd  been  drinking.  'I'll 
give  you  a  sample  of  my  customers,'  he  went  on. 
'A  feller  from  the  mountains  come  in  jest  now  an' 
asked  the  price  of  these  magazines.  I  told  him  the 
regular  price  was  twenty -five  cents  apiece,  but  I'd 
marked  'em  down  to  five.  He  looked  at  'em  for  about 
half  a  hour  an'  then  said  he  wasn't  goin'  out  o'  town 
till  sundown  an'  believed  he'd  take  one  if  I'd  read  it  to 
him." 

Craig  laughed  heartily  as  he  finished  the  story,  and 
Alan  and  Miller  joined  in. 

43 


Abner   Daniel 

"I  want  you  to  remember  that  yarn  when  you  get 
to  over-checkin'  on  me/'  said  Craig,  jestingly.  "I 
was  just  noticing  this  morning  that  you  have  drawn 
more  than  your  deposit." 

"Over-checked?"  said  Miller.  "You'll  think  I  have 
when  all  my  checks  get  in.  I  mailed  a  dozen  to-day. 
They'll  slide  in  on  you  in  about  a  week  and  you'll 
telegraph  Bradstreet's  to  know  how  I  stand.  This  is  a 
fine  banker/'  Miller  went  on  to  Alan.  "He  twits  me 
about  over-checking  occasionally.  Let  me  tell  you 
something.  Last  year  I  happened  to  have  ten  thou 
sand  dollars  on  my  hands  waiting  for  a  cotton  factory 
to  begin  operations  down  in  Alabama,  and  as  I  had  no 
idea  when  the  money  wrould  be  called  for  I  placed  it 
with  his  nibs  here  'on  call/  Things  got  in  a  tangle 
at  the  mill  and  they  kept  waiting,  and  our  friend  here 
concluded  I  had  given  it  to  him." 

"I  thought  you  had  forgotten  you  had  it,"  said 
Craig,  writh  another  of  his  loud,  infectious  laughs. 

"Anyway,"  went  on  Miller,  "I  got  a  sudden  order 
for  the  amount  and  ran  in  on  him  on  my  way  from  the 
post-office.  I  made  out  my  check  and  stuck  it  under 
his  nose.  Great  Scott  1  you  ought  to  have  seen  him 
wilt.  I  don't  believe  he  had  half  of  it  in  the  house, 
but  he  had  ten  million  excuses.  He  kept  me  waiting 
two  days  and  hustled  around  to  beat  the  band.  He 
thought  I  was  going  to  close  him  up." 

"  That  was  a  close  shave,"  admitted  Craig.  "  Never 
mind  about  the  over-checking,  my  boy;  keep  it  up,  if 
it  will  help  you.  You  are  doing  altogether  too  much 
business  with  the  other  ba^ik  to  suit  me,  anyway." 


VI 

[E  young  people  assembled  slowly  at 
ithe  dance  that  evening.  Towards  dark 
(it  had  begun  raining,  and  according 
i  to  custom  two  livery  -  stable  carriages, 
j called  "hacks,"  were  engaged  to  con- 
ivey  all  the  couples  to  and  from  the 
hotel.  There  was  no  disputing  over  who  should  have 
the  first  use  of  the  vehicles,  for  the  young  ladies  who 
had  the  reputation  of  getting  ready  early  on  such 
occasions  were  gone  after  first,  and  those  who  liked 
to  take  their  time  in  making  preparations  were  left 
till  later. 

Everything  in  life  is  relative,  and  to  young  people 
who  often  went  to  even  less  pretentious  entertainments 
this  affair  was  rather  impressive  in  its  elegance. 
Lamps  shone  everywhere,  and  bunches  of  candles 
blazed  and  sputtered  in  nooks  hung  about  with  ever 
greens.  The  girls  were  becomingly  attired  in  light 
evening-gowns,  and  many  of  them  were  good-looking, 
refined,  and  graceful.  All  were  soft-spoken  and  easy  in 
their  manners,  and  either  wore  or  carried  flowers.  The 
evening-suits  of  the  young  men  were  well  in  evidence, 
and  more  noticeable  to  the  wearers  themselves  than 
they  would  have  been  to  a  spectator  used  to  conven 
tional  style  of  dress.  They  could  be  seen  in  all  stages 
of  inadaptability  to  figures  too  large  or  too  small,  and 
even  after  the  dance  began  there  were  several  swaps, 
and  a  due  amount  of  congratulation  on  the  improve- 

45 


Abner   Daniel 

ment  from  the  appreciative  fair  sex.  The  young  lady 
accompanying  each  young  man  had  pinned  a  small 
bouquet  on  his  lapel,  so  that  it  would  have  been  im 
possible  to  tell  whether  a  man  had  a  natural  taste  for 
flowers  or  was  the  willing  victim  to  a  taste  higher  than 
his  own. 

Rayburn  Miller  and  Alan  sat  smoking  and  talking 
in  the  room  of  the  latter  till  about  half -past  nine  o'clock, 
and  then  they  went  down.  As  a  general  rule,  young 
men  were  expected  to  escort  ladies  to  dances,  when 
the  young  men  went  at  all;  but  Alan  was  often  ex 
cused  from  so  doing  on  account  of  living  in  the  country, 
and  Miller  had  broken  down  every  precedent  in  that 
respect  and  never  invited  a  girl  to  go  with  him.  He 
atoned  for  this  shortcoming  by  contributing  most 
liberally  to  every  entertainment  given  by  the  young 
people,  even  when  he  was  out  of  town.  He  used  to 
say  he  liked  to  graze  and  nibble  at  such  things  and 
feel  free  to  go  to  bed  or  business  at  will. 

As  the  two  friends  entered  the  big  parlor,  Alan  espied 
the  girl  about  whom  he  had  been  thinking  all  day. 
She  was  seated  in  one  of  the  deep,  lace-curtained  win 
dows  behind  the  piano.  Frank  Hillhouse  was  just 
presenting  to  her  a  faultlessly  attired  travelling  sales 
man.  At  this  juncture  one  of  the  floor  -  managers 
with  a  white  rosette  on  his  lapel  called  Miller  away  to 
ask  his  advice  about  some  details,  and  Alan  turned 
out  of  the  parlor  into  the  wide  corridor  which  ran  through 
the  house.  He  did  this  in  obedience  to  another  un 
written  law  governing  Barley's  social  intercourse — 
that  it  would  be  impolite  for  a  resident  gentleman  to 
intrude  himself  upon  a  stranger  who  had  just  been 
introduced  to  a  lady.  So  he  went  down  to  the  ground 
floor  and  strolled  into  the  office.  It  was  full  of  tobacco 
smoke  and  a  throng  of  men,  some  of  whom  were  from 
the  country  and  others  from  the  town,  drawn  to  the 

46 


Abner  Daniel 

hotel  by  the  festivities.  From  the  office  a  door  opened 
into  a  bar  and  billiard  room,  whence  came  the  click 
ing  of  ivory  balls  and  the  grounding  of  cues.  An 
other  door  led  into  the  large  dining-room,  which  had 
been  cleared  of  its  tables  that  it  might  be  used  for  danc 
ing.  There  was  a  sawing  of  fiddles,  the  twanging  of 
guitars,  the  jingle  of  tambourines,  and  the  groaning 
of  a  bass-viol.  The  musicians,  black  and  yellow,  oc 
cupied  chairs  on  one  of  the  tables,  which  had  been 
placed  against  the  wall,  and  one  of  the  floor-managers 
was  engaged  in  whittling  paraffine-candles  over  the 
floor  and  rubbing  it  in  with  his  feet.  Seeing  what  he 
was  doing,  some  of  the  young  men,  desirous  of  trying 
their  new  patent-leather  pumps,  came  in  and  began 
to  waltz  singly  and  in  couples. 

When  everything  was  in  readiness  the  floor-man 
agers  piloted  the  dancers  down-stairs.  From  the  office 
Alan  saw  them  filing  into  the  big  room  and  taking 
seats  in  the  chairs  arranged  against  the  walls  on  all 
sides.  He  saw  Frank  Hillhouse  and  Dolly  Barclay  sit 
down  near  the  band;  the  salesman  had  disappeared. 
Alan  threw  his  cigar  away  and  went  straight  to  her. 

"Oh,  here  you  are,"  laughed  Frank  Hillhouse,  as 
Alan  shook  hands  with  her.  "I  told  Miss  Dolly  com 
ing  on  that  the  west  wind  would  blow  you  this  way, 
and  when  I  saw  Ray  Miller  just  now  I  knew  you'd 
struck  the  town." 

"It  wasn't  exactly  the  wind,"  replied  Alan.  "I'm 
afraid  you  will  forget  me  if  I  stay  on  the  farm  all  the 
time." 

"We  certainly  are  glad  to  have  you,"  smiled  Miss 
Barclay. 

"I  knew  she'd  say  that — I  knew  it — I  knew  it," 
said  Hillhouse.  "  A  girl  can  always  think  of  nicer 
things  to  say  to  a  feller  than  his  rival  can.  Old  Squire 
Trabue  was  teasing  me  the  other  day  about  how  hard 

47 


Abner   Daniel 

you  was  to  beat,  Bishop,  but  I  told  him  the  bigger  the 
war  the  more  victory  for  somebody;  and,  as  the  feller 
said,  I  tote  fair  and  am  above  board." 

Alan  greeted  this  with  an  all  but  visible  shudder. 
There  was  much  in  his  dignified  bearing  and  good  ap 
pearance  to  commend  him  to  the  preference  of  any 
thinking  woman,  especially  when  contrasted  to  Hill- 
house,  who  was  only  a  little  taller  than  Dolly,  and  was 
showing  himself  even  at  a  greater  disadvantage  in  his 
unrefined  allusions  to  his  and  Alan's  attentions  to  her. 
Indeed,  Alan  was  sorry  for  the  spectacle  the  fellow  was 
making  of  himself,  and  tried  to  pass  it  over. 

"I  usually  come  in  on  Saturdays,"  he  explained. 

"  That's  true,"  said  Dolly,  with  one  of  her  rare  smiles, 

"  Yes  "  —  Hillhouse  took  another  header  into  for 
bidden  waters — "  he's  about  joined  your  church,  they 
tell  me." 

Alan  treated  this  with  an  indulgent  smile.  He 
did  not  dislike  Hillhouse,  but  he  did  not  admire  him, 
and  he  had  never  quite  liked  his  constant  attentions 
to  Miss  Barclay.  But  it  was  an  acknowledged  fact 
among  the  society  girls  of  Darley  that  if  a  girl  refused 
to  go  out  with  any  young  man  in  good  standing  it  was 
not  long  before  she  was  left  at  home  oftener  than  was 
pleasant.  Dolly  was  easily  the  best-looking  girl  in  the 
room;  not,  perhaps,  the  most  daintily  pretty,  but  she 
possessed  a  beauty  which  strength  of  character  and  in 
tellect  alone  could  give  to  a  face  already  well  featured. 
Even  her  physical  beauty  alone  was  of  that  texture 
which  gives  the  beholder  an  agreeable  sense  of  solidi 
ty.  She  was  well  formed,  above  medium  height,  had 
a  beautiful  neck  and  shoulders,  dark-gray  eyes,  and 
abundant  golden-brown  hair. 

"May  I  see  your  card?"  asked  Alan.  "I  came 
early  to  secure  at  least  one." 

At  this  Frank  Hillhouse  burst  out  laughing  and  she 


Abner  Daniel 

smiled  up  at  Alan.  "  He's  been  teasing  me  all  evening 
about  the  predicament  I'm  in/'  she  explained.  "  The 
truth  is,  I'm  not  going  to  dance  at  all.  The  presiding 
elder  happened  in  town  to-day,  on  his  way  through,  and 
is  at  our  house.  You  know  how  bitter  he  is  against 
church  -  members  dancing.  At  first  mamma  said  I 
shouldn't  come  a  step;  but  Mr.  Hillhouse  and  I  suc 
ceeded  in  getting  up  a  compromise.  I  can  only  look 
on.  But  my  friends  are  having  pity  on  me  and  filling 
my  card  for  what  they  call  stationary  dances/' 

Alan  laughed  as  he  took  the  card,  which  was  already 
almost  filled,  and  wrote  his  name  in  one  of  the  blank 
spaces.  Some  one  called  Hillhouse  away,  and  then 
an  awkward  silence  fell  upon  them.  For  the  first 
time  Alan  noticed  a  worried  expression  on  her  face, 
now  that  it  was  in  repose,  but  it  lighted  up  again  when 
she  spoke. 

"You  have  no  button-hole  bouquet,"  she  said,  no 
ticing  his  bare  lapel.  "That's  what  you  get  for  not 
bringing  a  girl.  Let  me  make  you  one." 

"I  wish  you  would,"  he  said,  thoughtfully,  for  as 
she  began  to  search  among  her  flowers  for  some  rose 
buds  and  leaves  he  noted  again  the  expression  of 
countenance  that  had  already  puzzled  him. 

"Since  you  are  so  popular,"  he  went  on,  his  eyes 
on  her  deft  fingers,  "I'd  better  try  to  make  another 
engagement.  I'd  as  well  confess  that  I  came  in  town 
solely  to  ask  you  to  let  me  take  you  to  church  to 
morrow  evening." 

He  saw  her  start ;  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his  almost 
imploringly,  and  then  she  looked  down.  He  saw  her 
breast  heave  suddenly  as  with  tightened  lips  she 
leaned  forward  to  pin  the  flowers  on  his  coat.  The 
jewels  in  her  rings  flashed  under  his  eyes ;  there  was  a 
delicate  perfume  in  the  air  about  her  glorious  head. 
He  had  never  seen  her  look  so  beautiful  before.  He 
4"  49 


Abner   Daniel 

wondered  at  her  silence  at  just  such  a  moment.  The 
tightness  of  her  lips  gave  way  and  they  fell  to  trem 
bling  when  she  started  to  speak. 

"I  hardly  know  what  to  say/'  she  began.  "I — I — 
you  know  I  said  the  presiding  elder  was  at  our  house, 
and—" 

"Oh,  I  understand/'  broke  in  Alan;  "that's  all 
right.  Of  course,  use  your  own — " 

"  No,  I  must  be  plain  with  you,"  she  broke  in,  raising 
a  pair  of  helpless,  tortured  eyes  to  his;  "you  will  not 
think  I  had  anything  to  do  with  it.  In  fact,  my  heart 
is  almost  broken.  I'm  very,  very  unhappy." 

He  was  still  totally  at  sea  as  to  the  cause  of  her 
strange  distress.  "Perhaps  you'd  rather  not  tell  me 
at  all,"  he  said,  sympathetically ;  his  tone  never  had 
been  so  tender.  "You  need  not,  you  know." 

"But  it's  a  thing  I  could  not  keep  from  you  long, 
anyway,"  she  said,  tremulously.  "  In  fact,  it  is  due 
you — an  explanation,  I  mean.  Oh,  Alan,  papa  has 
taken  up  the  idea  that  we — that  we  like  each  other  too 
much,  and — " 

The  life  and  soul  seemed  to  leave  Alan's  face. 

"I  understand,"  he  heard  himself  saying;  "he  does 
not  want  me  to  visit  you  any  more." 

She  made  no  reply ;  he  saw  her  catch  a  deep  breath, 
and  her  eyes  went  down  to  her  flowers.  The  music 
struck  up.  The  mulatto  leader  stood  waving  his  fiddle 
and  calling  for  "the  grand  march"  in  loud,  melodi 
ous  tones.  There  was  a  scrambling  for  partners ;  the 
young  men  gave  their  left  arms  to  the  ladies  and  mer 
rily  dragged  them  to  their  places. 

"  I  hope  you  do  not  blame  me — that  you  don't  think 
that  I — "  but  the  clatter  and  clamor  ingulfed  her  words. 

"No,  not  at  all,"  he  told  her;  "but  it's  awful— sim 
ply  awful!  I  know  you  are  a  true  friend,  and  that's 
some  sort  of  comfort." 

50 


Abner   Daniel 

"And  I  always  shall  be,"  she  gulped.  "You  must 
try  not  to  feel  hurt.  You  know  my  father  is  a  very 
peculiar  man,  and  has  an  awful  will,  and  nobody  was 
ever  so  obstinate." 

Then  Alan's  sense  of  the  great  injustice  of  the  thing 
rose  up  within  him  and  his  blood  began  to  boil.  "  Per 
haps  I  ought  to  take  my  name  off  your  card/'  he  said, 
drawing  himself  up  slightly ;  "  if  he  were  to  hear  that 
I  talked  to  you  to-night  he  might  make  it  unpleasant 
for  you." 

"If  you  do  I  shall  never — never  forgive  you,"  she 
answered,  in  a  voice  that  shook.  There  was,  too, 
a  glistening  in  her  eyes,  as  if  tears  were  springing. 
"  Wouldn't  that  show  that  you  harbored  ill-will  against 
me,  when  I  am  so  helpless  and  troubled?" 

"Yes,  it  would;  and  I  shall  come  back/'  he  made 
answer.  He  rose,  for  Hillhouse,  calling  loudly  over 
his  shoulder  to  some  one,  was  thrusting  his  bowed  arm 
down  towards  her. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  to  Dolly.  "I  didn't 
know  they  had  called  the  march.  We've  got  some 
ice-cream  hid  out  up-stairs,  and  some  of  us  are  going 
for  it.  Won't  you  take  some,  Bishop?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Alan,  and  they  left  him. 


VII 

(LAN  made  his  way  along  the  wall,  out 
I  of  the  track  of  the  promenaders,  into  the 
office,  anxious  to  escape  being  spoken 
to  by  any  one.     But  here  several  jovial 
men  from  the  mountains  who  knew  him 
I  intimately  gathered  around  him  and  be 
gan  to  make  laughing  remarks  about  his  dress. 

"You  look  fer  the  world  like  a  dirt-dauber."  This 
comparison  to  a  kind  of  black  wasp  came  from  Pole 
Baker,  a  tall,  heavily  built  farmer  with  an  enormous 
head,  thick  eyebrows,  and  long,  shaggy  hair.  lie 
lived  on  Bishop's  farm,  and  had  been  brought  up 
with  Alan.  "Til  be  derned  ef  you  ain't  nimble  on 
yore  feet,  though.  I've  seed  you  cut  the  pigeon-wing 
over  on  Mossy  Creek  with  them  big,  strappin'  gals 
'fore  you  had  yore  sights  as  high  as  these  town 
folks." 

"It's  that  thar  vest  that  gits  me,"  said  another. 
"I  reckon  it's  cut  low  so  you  won't  drap  saft  victuals 
on  it ;  but  I  guess  you  don't  do  much  eatin'  with  that 
collar  on.  It  don't  look  like  yore  Adam's-apple  could 
stir  a  peg  under  it." 

With  a  good-natured  reply  and  a  laugh  he  did  not 
feel,  Alan  hurried  out  of  the  office  and  up  to  his  room, 
where  he  had  left  his  lamp  burning.  Rayburn  Miller's 
hat  and  light  overcoat  were  on  the  bed.  Alan  sat 
down  in  one  of  the  stiff  -  backed,  split -bottom  chairs 
and  stared  straight  in  front  of  him.  Never  in  his  life 

52 


Abner   Daniel 

had  he  suffered  as  he  was  now  suffering.  He  could 
see  no  hope  ahead;  the  girl  he  loved  was  lost  to  him. 
Her  father  had  heard  of  the  foolhardiness  of  old  man 
Bishop,  and,  like  many  another  well-meaning  parent, 
had  determined  to  save  his  daughter  from  the  folly  of 
marrying  a  penniless  man,  who  had  doubtless  in 
herited  his  father's  lack  of  judgment  and  caution. 

There  was  a  rap  on  the  closed  door,  and  immediately 
afterwards  Rayburn  Miller  turned  the  knob  and  came 
in.  His  kindly  glance  swept  the  face  of  his  friend, 
and  he  said,  with  forced  lightness : 

"I  was  doing  the  cake-walk  with  that  fat  Howard 
girl  from  Rome  when  I  saw  you  leave  the  room.  She 
can't  hide  the  fact  that  she  is  from  a  city  of  ten  thou 
sand  population.  She  kept  calling  my  attention  to 
what  our  girls  had  on  and  sniggering.  She's  been 
to  school  in  Boston  and  looked  across  the  ocean  from 
there.  You  know  I  don't  think  we  lead  the  world, 
but  it  makes  me  fighting  mad  to  have  our  town  sneered 
at.  When  she  was  making  so  much  fun  of  the  girls' 
dresses,  I  came  in  an  inch  of  asking  her  if  she  was  a 
dressmaker.  By  God,  I  did!  You  remember,"  Miller 
went  on  lightly,  as  if  he  had  divined  Alan's  misery  and 
was  trying  to  cheer  him  up — "  you  remember  how  Percy 
Lee,  Hamilton's  shoe-clerk,  hit  back  at  that  Savannah 
girl.  She  was  stopping  in  this  house  for  a  month  one 
summer,  and  he  called  on  her  and  took  her  driving 
several  times ;  but  one  day  she  let  herself  out.  '  Every 
thing  is  so  different  up  here,  Mr.  Lee/  she  giggled. 
'  Down  home,  girls  in  good  society  never  receive  young 
men  in  your  business.'  It  was  a  lick  between  the  eyes  ; 
but  old  North  Georgia  was  ready  for  it.  'Oh,'  said 
Percy,  whose  mother's  blood  is  as  blue  as  indigo, '  the 
Darley  girls  draw  the  line,  too ;  I  only  get  to  go  with 
hotel  girls." 

Alan  looked  up  and  smiled,  but  his  face  seemed 

53 


Abner   Daniel 

frozen.  Miller  sat  down,  and  an  awkward  silence  fell 
for  several  minutes.  It  was  broken  by  the  lawyer. 

"I  don't  want  to  bore  you,  old  man,"  he  said,  "but 
I  just  had  to  follow  you.  I  saw  from  your  looks  as 
you  left  the  ballroom  that  something  was  wrong,  and  I 
am  afraid  I  know  what  it  is." 

"You  think  you  do?"  asked  Alan,  flashing  a  glance 
of  surprise  upward. 

"Yes.  You  see,  Colonel  Barclay  is  a  rough,  out 
spoken  man,  and  he  made  a  remark  the  other  day 
which  reached  me.  I  wasn't  sure  it  was  true,  so  I 
didn't  mention  it ;  but  I  reckon  my  informant  knew 
what  he  was  talking  about." 

Alan  nodded  despondently.  "I  asked  her  to  go  to 
church  with  me  to-morrow  night.  She  was  awfully 
embarrassed,  and  finally  told  me  of  her  father's  ob 
jections." 

"I  think  I  know  what  fired  the  old  devil  up,"  said 
Miller. 

"You  do?" 

"Yes,  it  was  that  mistake  of  your  father's.  As  I 
told  you,  the  Colonel  is  as  mad  as  a  wet  hen  about  the 
whole  thing.  He's  got  a  rope  tied  to  every  nickel  he's 
got,  and  he  intends  to  leave  Dolly  a  good  deal  of  money. 
He  thinks  Frank  Hillhouse  is  just  the  thing ;  he  shows 
that  as  plain  as  day.  He  noticed  how  frequently  you 
came  to  see  Dolly  and  scented  danger  ahead,  and  sim 
ply  put  his  foot  down  on  it,  just  as  fathers  have  been 
doing  ever  since  the  Flood.  My  dear  boy,  you've 
got  a  bitter  pill  to  take,  but  you've  got  to  swallow  it 
like  a  man.  You've  reached  a  point  where  two  roads 
fork.  It  is  for  you  to  decide  which  one  you'll  take." 

Alan  made  no  reply.  Rayburn  Miller  lighted  a 
cigar  and  began  to  smoke  steadily.  There  was  a 
sound  of  boisterous  laughter  in  a  room  across  the  cor 
ridor.  It  had  been  set  aside  as  the  dressing-room 

54 


Abner    Daniel 

for  the  male  revellers,  and  some  of  them  were  there,  or 
dering  drinks  up  from  the  bar.  Now  and  then  from 
below  came  muffled  strains  of  music  and  the  monot 
onous  shuffling  of  feet. 

"It's  none  of  my  business,"  Miller  burst  out,  sud 
denly;  "but  I'm  friend  enough  of  yours  to  feel  this 
thing  like  the  devil.  However,  I  don't  know  what  to 
say.  I  only  wish  I  knew  how  far  you've  gone  into  it." 

Alan  smiled  mechanically. 

"If  you  can't  look  at  me  and  see  how  far  I've  gone 
you  are  blind,"  he  said. 

"  I  don't  mean  that,"  replied  Miller.  "  I  was  wonder 
ing  how  far  you  had  committed  yourself — oh,  damn 
it! — made  love,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"I've  never  spoken  to  her  on  the  subject/'  Alan 
informed  him,  gloomily. 

"Good,  good!     Splendid!" 

Alan  stared  in  surprise. 

"I  don't  understand,"  he  said.  "She  knows — that 
is,  I  think  she  knows  how  I  feel,  and  I  have  hoped 
that—" 

"Never  mind  about  that,"  interrupted  Miller,  la 
conically.  "  There  is  a  chance  for  both  of  you  if  you'll 
turn  square  around  like  sensible  human  beings  and 
look  the  facts  in  the  face." 

"You  mean — " 

"That  it  will  be  stupid,  childish  idiocy  for  either 
or  both  of  you  to  let  this  thing  spoil  your  lives." 

"I  don't  understand  you." 

"Well,  you  will  before  I'm  through  with  you,  and 
I'll  do  you  up  brown.  There  are  simply  two  courses 
open  to  you,  my  boy.  One  is  to  treat  Colonel  Barclay's 
wishes  with  dignified  respect,  and  bow  and  retire  just 
as  any  European  gentleman  would  do  when  told  that 
his  pile  was  too  small  to  be  considered." 

"  And  the  other?"  asked  Alan,  sharply. 

55 


Abner   Daniel 

"The  other  is  to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  nearly 
every  sentimental  fool  that  ever  was  born,  and  go 
around  looking  like  a  last  year's  bird's-nest,  looking 
good  for  nothing,  and  being  good  for  nothing ;  or,  worse 
yet,  persuading  the  girl  to  elope,  and  thus  angering 
her  father  so  that  he  will  cut  her  out  of  what's  coming 
to  her  and  what  is  her  right,  my  boy.  She  may  be 
willing  to  live  on  a  bread-and-water  diet  for  a  while, 
but  she'll  lose  flesh  and  temper  in  the  long  run.  If 
you  don't  make  as  much  money  for  her  as  you  cause 
her  to  lose  she'll  tell  you  of  it  some  day,  or  at  least 
let  you  see  it,  an'  that's  as  long  as  it's  wide.  You  are 
now  giving  yourself  a  treatment  in  self  -  hypnotism, 
telling  yourself  that  life  has  not  and  cannot  produce 
a  thing  for  you  beyond  that  particular  pink  frock  and 
yellow  head.  I  know  how  you  feel.  I've  been  there 
six  different  times,  beginning  with  a  terrible  long 
first  attack  and  dwindling  down,  as  I  became  inocu 
lated  with  experience,  till  now  the  complaint  amounts 
to  hardly  more  than  a  momentary  throe  when  I  see  a 
fresh  one  in  a  train  for  an  hour's  ride.  I  can  do  you  a 
lot  of  good  if  you'll  listen  to  me.  I'll  give  you  the 
benefit  of  my  experience." 

"  What  good  would  your  devilish  experience  do  me?" 
said  Alan,  impatiently. 

"  It  would  fit  any  man's  case  if  he'd  only  believe  it. 
I've  made  a  study  of  love.  I've  observed  hundreds  of 
typical  cases,  and  watched  marriage  from  inception 
through  protracted  illness  or  boredom  down  to  dumb 
resignation  or  sudden  death.  I  don't  mean  that  no 
lovers  of  the  ideal,  sentimental  brand  are  ever  happy 
after  marriage,  but  I  do  believe  that  open-eyed  court 
ship  will  beat  the  blind  sort  all  hollow,  and  that,  in  nine 
cases  out  of  ten,  if  people  were  mated  by  law  accord 
ing  to  the  judgment  of  a  sensible,  open-eyed  jury,  they 
would  be  happier  than  they  now  are.  Nothing  ever 

56 


Abner   Daniel 

spoken  is  truer  than  the  commandment,  'Thou  shalt 
have  no  other  God  but  me.'  Let  a  man  put  anything 
above  the  principle  of  living  right  and  he  will  be  mis 
erable.  The  man  who  holds  gold  as  the  chief  thing  in 
life  will  starve  to  death  in  its  cold  glitter,  while  a  pauper 
in  rags  will  have  a  laugh  that  rings  with  the  music  of 
immortal  joy.  In  the  same  way  the  man  who  declares 
that  only  one  woman  is  suited  to  him  is  making  a 
god  of  her — raising  her  to  a  seat  that  won't  support 
her  dead,  material  weight.  I  frankly  believe  that  the 
glamour  of  love  is  simply  a  sort  of  insanity  that  has 
never  been  correctly  named  and  treated  because  so 
many  people  have  been  the  victims  of  it." 

"Do  you  know,"  Alan  burst  in,  almost  angrily, 
"  when  you  talk  that  way  I  think  you  are  off.  I  know 
what's  the  matter  with  you ;  you  have  simply  frittered 
away  your  heart,  your  ability  to  love  and  appreciate  a 
good  woman.  Thank  Heaven!  your  experience  has  not 
been  mine.  I  don't  see  how  you  could  ever  be  happy 
with  a  woman.  I  couldn't  look  a  pure  wife  in  the 
face  and  remember  all  the  flirtations  you've  indulged 
in — that  is,  if  they  were  mine." 

"  There  you  go,"  laughed  Miller ;  "  make  it  personal, 
that's  the  only  way  the  average  lover  argues.  I  am 
speaking  in  general  terms.  Let  me  finish.  Take  two 
examples:  first,  the  chap  crazily  in  love,  who  faces 
life  with  the  red  rag  of  his  infatuation — his  girl.  No 
parental  objection,  everything  smooth,  and  a  car-load 
of  silverware — a  clock  for  every  room  in  the  house. 
They  start  out  on  their  honeymoon,  doing  the  chief 
cities  at  the  biggest  hotels  and  the  theatres  in  the  three- 
dollar  seats.  They  soon  tire  of  themselves  and  lay  it 
to  the  trip.  Every  day  they  rake  away  a  handful  of 
glamour  from  each  other,  till,  when  they  reach  home, 
they  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  they  are  only 
human,  and  not  the  highest  order  at  that.  For  a  while 

57 


Abner   Daniel 

they  have  a  siege  of  discontent,  wondering  where  it's 
all  gone.  Finally,  the  man  is  forced  to  go  about  his 
work,  and  the  woman  gets  to  making  things  to  go  on 
the  backs  of  chairs  and  trying  to  spread  her  trousseau 
over  the  next  year,  and  they  begin  to  court  resignation. 
Now  if  they  had  not  had  the  glamour  attack  they  would 
have  got  down  to  business  sooner,  that's  all,  and  they 
would  have  set  a  better  example  to  other  plungers. 
Now  for  the  second  illustration.  Poverty  on  one  side, 
boodle  on  the  other ;  more  glamour  than  in  other  case, 
because  of  the  gulf  between.  They  get  married — they 
have  to;  they've  inherited  the  stupid  idea  that  the  Lord 
is  at  the  bottom  of  it  and  that  the  glamour  is  His  smile. 
Like  the  other  couple,  their  eyes  are  finally  opened  to 
the  facts,  and  they  begin  to  secretly  wonder  what  it's 
all  about ;  the  one  with  the  spondoolix  wonders  harder 
than  the  one  who  has  none.  If  the  man  has  the  money, 
he  will  feel  good  at  first  over  doing  so  much  for  his 
affinity ;  but  if  he  has  an  eye  for  earthly  values — and 
good  business  men  have — there  will  be  times  wrhen  he 
will  envy  Jones,  whose  wife  had  as  many  rocks  as 
Jones.  Love  and  capital  go  together  like  rain  and 
sunshine;  they  are  productive  of  something.  Then 
if  the  woman  has  the  money  and  the  man  hasn't, 
there's  tragedy — a  slow  cutting  of  throats.  She  is  ir 
resistibly  drawn  with  the  rest  of  the  world  into  the 
thought  that  she  has  tied  herself  and  her  money  to 
an  automaton,  for  such  men  are  invariably  lifeless. 
They  seem  to  lose  the  faculty  of  earning  money — in 
any  other  way.  And  as  for  a  proper  title  for  the 
penniless  young  idiot  that  publicly  advertises  himself 
as  worth  enough,  in  himself,  for  a  girl  to  sacrifice 
her  money  to  live  with  him — well,  the  unabridged  does 
not  furnish  it.  Jack  Ass  in  bill -board  letters  would 
come  nearer  to  it  than  anything  that  occurs  to  me 
now.  Fm  not  afraid  to  say  it,  for  I  know  you'd  never 

58 


Abner    Daniel 

cause  any  girl  to  give  up  her  fortune  without  know 
ing,  at  least,  whether  you  could  replace  it  or  not." 

Alan  rose  and  paced  the  room.  "That,"  he  said, 
as  he  stood  between  the  lace  curtains  at  the  window, 
against  which  the  rain  beat  steadily — "that  is  why  I 
feel  so  blue.  I  don't  believe  Colonel  Barclay  would 
ever  forgive  her,  and  I'd  die  before  I'd  make  her  lose  a 
thing." 

"You  are  right,"  returned  Miller,  relighting  his 
cigar  at  the  lamp,  "  and  he'd  cut  her  off  without  a  cent. 
I  know  him.  But  what  is  troubling  me  is  that  you 
may  not  be  benefited  by  my  logic.  Don't  allow  this  to 
go  any  further.  Let  her  alone  from  to-night  on  and 
you'll  find  in  a  few  months  that  you  are  resigned  to 
it,  just  like  the  average  widower  who  wants  to  get 
married  six  months  after  his  loss.  And  when  she  is 
married  and  has  a  baby,  she'll  meet  you  on  the  street 
and  not  care  a  rap  whether  her  hat's  on  right  or  not. 
She'll  tell  her  husband  all  about  it,  and  allude  to  you 
as  her  first,  second,  or  third  fancy,  as  the  case  may 
be.  I  have  faith  in  your  future,  but  you've  got  a 
long,  rocky  row  to  hoe,  and  a  thing  like  this  could 
spoil  your  usefulness  and  misdirect  your  talents.  If 
I  could  see  how  you  could  profit  by  waiting  I'd  let  your 
flame  burn  unmolested ;  but  circumstances  are  agin  us." 

"I'd  already  seen  my  duty,"  said  Alan,  in  a  low 
tone,  as  he  came  away  from  the  window.  "  I  have  an 
engagement  wTith  her  later,  and  the  subject  shall  be 
avoided." 

"Good  man!"  Miller's  cigar  was  so  short  that  he 
stuck  the  blade  of  his  penknife  through  it  that  he 
might  enjoy  it  to  the  end  without  burning  his  fingers. 
"  That's  the  talk !  Now  I  must  mosey  on  down-stairs 
and  dance  with  that  Miss  Fewclothes  from  Rome — 
the  one  with  the  auburn  tresses,  that  says  '  delighted ' 
whenever  she  is  spoken  to." 

59 


Abner   Daniel 

Alan  went  back  to  the  window.  The  rain  was  still 
beating  on  it.  For  a  long  time  he  stood  looking  out 
into  the  blackness.  The  bad  luck  which  had  come  to 
his  father  had  been  a  blow  to  him;  but  its  later  off 
spring  had  the  grim,  cold  countenance  of  death  itself. 
He  had  never  realized  till  now  that  Dolly  Barclay  was 
so  much  a  part  of  his  very  life.  For  a  moment  he  al 
most  gave  way  to  a  sob  that  rose  and  struggled  within 
him.  He  sat  down  again  and  clasped  his  hands  before 
him  in  dumb  self-pity.  He  told  himself  that  Rayburn 
Miller  was  right,  that  only  weak  men  would  act  con 
trary  to  such  advice.  No,  it  was  over — all,  all  over. 


VIII 

rFTER  the  dance  Frank  Hillhouse  took 
Dolly  home  in  one  of  the  drenched  and 
bespattered  hacks.  The  Barclay  resi 
dence  was  one  of  the  best -made  and 
largest  in  town.  It  was  an  old-style 
'Southern  frame-house,  painted  white, 
and  had  white-columned  verandas  on  two  sides.  It 
was  in  the  edge  of  the  town,  and  had  an  extensive 
lawn  in  front  and  almost  a  little  farm  behind. 

Dolly's  mother  had  never  forgotten  that  she  was 
once  a  girl  herself,  and  she  took  the  most  active  interest 
in  everything  pertaining  to  Dolly's  social  life.  On 
occasions  like  the  one  just  described  she  found  it  im 
possible  to  sleep  till  her  daughter  returned,  and  then 
she  slipped  up-stairs,  and  made  the  girl  tell  all  about 
it  while  she  was  disrobing.  To-night  she  was  more 
alert  and  wide-awake  than  usual.  She  opened  the 
front  door  for  Dolly  and  almost  stepped  on  the  girl's 
heels  as  she  followed  her  up-stairs. 
"Was  it  nice?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  very,"  Dolly  replied.  Reaching  her  room, 
she  turned  up  the  low-burning  lamp,  and,  standing 
before  a  mirror,  began  to  take  some  flowers  out  of 
her  hair.  Mrs.  Barclay  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the 
high -posted  mahogany  bed  and  raised  one  of  her 
bare  feet  and  held  it  in  her  hand.  She  was  a  thin 
woman  with  iron -gray  hair,  and  about  fifty  years 
of  age.  She  looked  as  if  she  were  cold;  but,  for 

61 


Abner   Daniel 

reasons  of  her  own,  she  was  not  willing  for  Dolly  to 
remark  it. 

"Who  was  there?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  everybody/' 

"Is  that  so?  I  thought  a  good  many  would  stay 
away  because  it  was  a  bad  night;  but  I  reckon  they 
are  as  anxious  to  go  as  we  used  to  be.  Then  you  all 
did  have  the  hacks?" 

"Yes,  they  had  the  hacks."  There  was  a  pause, 
during  which  one  pair  of  eyes  was  fixed  rather  vacantly 
on  the  image  in  the  mirror;  the  other  pair,  full  of  im 
patient  inquiry,  rested  alternately  on  the  image  and 
its  maker. 

"I  don't  believe  you  had  a  good  time,"  broke  the 
silence,  in  a  rising,  tentative  tone. 

"Yes,  I  did,  mother." 

"  Then  what's  the  matter  with  you?"  Mrs.  Barclay's 
voice  rang  with  impatience.  "  I  never  saw  you  act  like 
you  do  to-night,  never  in  my  life." 

"I  didn't  know  anything  was  wrong  with  me, 
mother." 

"You  act  queer;  I  declare  you  do,"  asserted  Mrs. 
Barclay.  "You  generally  have  a  lot  to  say.  Have 
you  and  Frank  had  a  falling  out?" 

Dolly  gave  her  shoulders  a  sudden  shrug  of  con 
tempt. 

"No,  we  got  along  as  well  as  we  ever  did." 

"  I  thought  maybe  he  was  a  little  mad  because  you 
wouldn't  dance  to-night;  but  surely  he's  got  enough 
sense  to  see  that  you  oughtn't  to  insult  brother  Dill- 
beck  that  way  when  he's  visiting  our  house  and  every 
body  knows  what  he  thinks  about  dancing." 

"  No,  he  thought  I  did  right  about  it,"  said  Dolly. 

"Then  what  in  the  name  of  common-sense  is  the 
matter  with  you,  Dolly?  You  can't  pull  the  wool 
over  my  eyes,  and  you  needn't  try  it." 

62 


Abner   Daniel 

Dolly  faced  about  suddenly. 

"  I  reckon  you'll  sit  there  all  night  unless  I  tell  you 
all  about  it,"  she  said,  sharply.  "  Mother,  Alan  Bishop 
was  there." 

"You  don't  say!" 

"Yes,  and  asked  me  to  let  him  take  me  to  church 
to-morrow  evening." 

"Oh,  he  did?" 

"Yes,  and  as  I  didn't  want  father  to  insult  him, 
I—" 

"You  told  him  what  your  pa  said?" 

"  No,  I  just  told  him  father  didn't  want  me  to  receive 
him  any  more.  Heaven  knows,  that  was  enough." 

"Well,  that  was  the  best  thing  for  you  to  do." 
Mrs.  Barclay  took  a  deep  breath,  as  if  she  were  in 
haling  a  delicious  perfume.  "It's  much  better  than 
to  have  him  plunge  in  here  some  day  and  have  your 
father  break  out  like  he  does  in  his  rough  way.  What 
did  Alan  say?" 

"He  said  very  little;  but  he  looked  it.  You  ought 
to  have  seen  him.  Frank  came  up  just  about  that 
time  and  invited  me  to  have  some  ice-cream,  and  I  had 
to  leave  him.  He  was  as  white  as  a  sheet.  He  had 
made  an  engagement  with  me  to  sit  out  a  dance,  and 
he  didn't  come  in  the  room  again  till  that  dance  was 
called,  and  then  he  didn't  even  mention  it.  He  acted 
so  peculiarly,  I  could  see  it  was  nearly  killing  him, 
but  he  wouldn't  let  me  bring  up  the  subject  again. 
I  came  near  doing  it;  but  he  always  steered  round  it." 

"He's  a  sensible  young  man,"  declared  Mrs.  Bar 
clay.  "  Any  one  can  see  that  by  looking  at  him.  He's 
not  responsible  for  his  father's  foolhardy  venture,  but 
it  certainly  leaves  him  in  a  bad  fix  as  a  marrying  man. 
He's  had  bad  luck,  and  he  must  put  up  with  the  conse 
quences.  There  are  plenty  of  girls  who  have  no  money 
or  prospects  who  would  be  glad  to  have  him,  but — " 

63 


Abner   Daniel 

"Mother/'  broke  in  Dolly,  as  if  she  had  been  listen 
ing  to  her  own  troubled  thoughts  rather  than  her 
mother's  words ;  "  he  didn't  act  as  if  he  wanted  to  see 
me  alone.  The  other  couples  who  had  engagements 
to  talk  during  that  dance  were  sitting  in  windows  and 
out-of-the-way  corners,  but  he  kept  me  right  where  I 
was,  and  was  as  carefully  polite  as  if  we  had  just  been 
introduced.  I  was  sorry  for  him  and  mad  at  the  same 
time.  I  could  have  pulled  his  ears." 

"He's  sensible,  very  sensible,"  said  Mrs.  Barclay, 
in  a  tone  of  warm  admiration.  "A  man  like  that 
ought  to  get  along,  and  I  reckon  he  will  do  well  some 
day." 

"But,  mother,"  said  Dolly,  her  rich,  round  voice 
rising  like  a  wave  and  breaking  in  her  throat,  "he 
may  never  think  about  me  any  more." 

"Well,  that  really  would  be  best,  dear,  under  the 
circumstances. " 

"Best?"  Dolly  blurted  out.  "How  can  you  say 
that,  when — when — " 

"Dolly,  you  are  not  really  foolish  about  him,  are 
you?"  Mrs.  Barclay's  face  dropped  into  deeper  seri 
ousness. 

Dolly  looked  away  and  was  silent  for  a  moment ; 
then  she  faltered:  "I  don't  know,  mother,  I  —  I'm 
afraid  if  I  keep  on  feeling  like  I  do  now  I'll  never  get 
over  it." 

"  Ah,  but  you'll  not  keep  on  feeling  like  you  do  now," 
consoled  the  older  woman.  "Of  course,  right  now, 
just  after  seeing  how  hard  he  took  it,  you  will  kind  o' 
sympathize  with  him  and  want  to  help  him;  but  that 
will  all  pass  away.  I  remember  when  I  was  about  your 
age  I  had  a  falling  out  with  Will  Despree — a  young 
man  my  father  didn't  like  because  his  grandfather 
had  been  an  overseer.  And,  do  you  know,  I  thought  I 
would  actually  kill  myself.  I  refused  to  eat  a  bite  and 

64 


Abner    Daniel 

threatened  to  run  away  with  Will.  To  this  day  I 
really  don't  know  what  I  would  have  done  if  your  grand 
father  hadn't  scared  him  away  with  a  shot-gun.  Will 
kept  writing  notes  to  me.  I  was  afraid  to  answer  them, 
but  my  father  got  hold  of  one  and  went  after  him  on  a 
fast  horse.  Will's  family  heard  what  was  up  and  they 
kept  him  out  in  the  swamp  for  a  few  days,  and  then 
they  sent  him  to  Texas.  The  whole  Despree  family 
took  it  up  and  talked  scand'lous  about  us." 

"And  you  soon  got  over  it,  mother?"  asked  Dolly, 
almost  in  a  tone  of  dismay. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Barclay,  reflectively,  "Will  acted 
the  fool  so  terribly ;  he  wasn't  out  in  Texas  three  months 
before  he  sent  back  a  marked  paper  with  an  article  in 
it  about  his  engagement  to  the  daughter  of  a  rich  man 
who,  we  found  out  afterwards,  used  to  keep  a  livery- 
stable  ;  then  I  reckon  hardly  any  girl  would  keep  caring 
for  a  boy  when  his  folks  was  telling  such  lies  about 
her  family." 

Dolly  was  staring  studiously  at  the  speaker. 

"Mother,"  she  asked,  "don't  you  believe  in  real 
love?" 

Mrs.  Barclay  laughed  as  if  highly  amused.  "I 
believe  in  a  different  sort  to  the  puppy  love  I  had  for 
that  boy.  Then  after  that  there  was  another  young 
man  that  I  thought  more  of,  if  anything,  than  I  did  of 
Will ;  but  he  was  as  poor  as  Job's  turkey,  and  my  folks 
was  all  crazy  for  me  'n'  your  pa,  who  I'd  never  seen,  to 
get  married.  I  held  out  against  the  idea,  just  like  you 
are  doing  with  Frank,  I  reckon;  but  when  your  pa 
come  with  his  shiny  broadcloth  coat  and  spotted  silk 
vest — no,  it  was  satin,  I  think,  with  red  spots  on  it — and 
every  girl  in  town  was  crazy  to  catch  him,  and  there 
was  no  end  of  reports  about  the  niggers  he  owned  and 
his  high  connections — well,  as  I  say,  it  wasn't  a  week 
before  I  was  afraid  he'd  see  Joe  Tinsley  and  hear  about 
»  65 


Abner   Daniel 

me  'n'  him.  My  father  was  in  for  the  match  from  the 
very  jump,  and  so  was  your  pa's  folks.  He  put  up 
at  our  house  with  his  nigger  servant  and  didn't  want 
to  go  about  town  much.  I  reckon  I  was  pleased  to 
have  him  pick  me  out,  and  so  we  soon  fixed  it  up. 
Lordy,  he  only  had  to  mention  Joe  Tinsley  to  me  after 
we  got  married  to  make  me  do  anything  he  wanted. 
To  this  day  he  throws  him  up  to  me,  for  Joe  never  did 
amount  to  anything.  He  tried  to  borrow  money  from 
your  pa  after  you  was  born.  The  neighbors  had  to 
feed  his  children." 

"But  you  loved  father,  didn't  you?"  Dolly  breathed, 
in  some  relief  over  what  she  thought  was  coming. 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  I  did,"  said  Mrs.  Barclay.  "  We 
had  a  terrible  time  getting  used  to  one  another's  ways. 
You  see,  he'd  waited  a  good  while,  and  was  some  older 
than  I  was.  After  a  while,  though,  we  settled  down, 
and  now  I'm  awful  glad  I  let  my  father  manage  for 
me.  You  see,  what  your  pa  had  and  what  my  fa 
ther  settled  on  me  made  us  comfortable,  and  if  a 
couple  is  that  it's  a  sight  more  than  the  pore  ones 
are." 

Dolly  stood  before  her  mother,  close  enough  to  touch 
her.  Her  face  wore  an  indescribable  expression  of 
dissatisfaction  with  what  she  had  heard. 

"Mother,  tell  me  one  thing,"  she  said.  "Did  you 
ever  let  either  of  those  boys — the  two  that  you  didn't 
marry,  I  mean — kiss  you?" 

Mrs.  Barclay  stared  up  at  her  daughter  for  an  in 
stant  and  then  her  face  broke  into  a  broad  smile  of 
genuine  amusement.  She  lowered  her  head  to  her 
knee  and  laughed  out. 

"Dolly  Barclay,  you  are  such  a  fool!"  she  said,  and 
then  she  laughed  again  almost  immoderately,  her 
face  in  her  lap. 

"  I  know  what  that  means,"  said  Dolly,  in  high  dis- 

66 


Abner   Daniel 

gust.  "  Mother,  I  don't  think  you  can  do  me  any  good. 
You'd  better  go  to  bed." 

Mrs.  Barclay  rose  promptly. 

"  I  think  I'd  better,  too/'  she  said.  "  It  makes  your 
pa  awful  mad  for  me  to  sit  up  this  way.  I  don't  want 
to  hear  him  rail  out  like  he  always  does  when  he 
catches  me  at  it." 

After  her  mother  had  gone,  Dolly  sat  down  on 
her  bed.  "She  never  was  in  love,"  she  told  herself. 
"Never,  never,  never!  And  it  is  a  pity.  She  never 
could  have  talked  that  way  if  she  had  really  loved 
anybody  as  much  as — "  But  Dolly  did  not  finish 
what  lay  on  her  tongue.  However,  when  she  had 
drawn  the  covers  up  over  her  the  cold  tears  rose 
in  her  eyes  and  rolled  down  on  her  pillow  as  she 
thought  of  Alan  Bishop's  brave  and  dignified  suffer 
ing. 

"Poor  fellow!"  she  said.     "Poor,  dear  Alan!" 


IX 


HERE  is  a  certain  class  of  individuals 
that  will  gather  around  a  man  in  mis 
fortune,  and  it  differs  very  little,  if  it 
differs  at  all,  from  the  class  that  warms 
itself  in  the  glow  of  a  man's  prosper 
ity.  It  is  made  up  of  human  failures, 
in  the  first  instance,  congratulating  themselves  on 
not  being  alone  in  bad  luck;  in  the  second,  desirous 
of  seeing  how  a  fortunate  man  would  look  and  act 
and  guessing  at  his  feelings.  From  the  appearance 
of  Bishop's  home  for  the  first  fortnight  after  his  re 
turn  from  Atlanta,  you  would  have  thought  that  some 
one  was  seriously  ill  in  the  house  or  that  some  gen 
eral  favorite  had  returned  to  the  family  after  a  long 
absence. 

Horses  were  hitched  to  the  fence  from  the  front  gate 
all  the  way  round  to  the  side  entrance.  The  mountain 
people  seemed  to  have  left  their  various  occupations 
to  subtly  enjoy  the  spectacle  of  a  common  man  like 
themselves  who  had  reached  too  far  after  forbidden 
fruit  and  lay  maimed  and  torn  before  them.  It  was 
a  sort  of  feast  at  which  the  baser  part  of  their  spiritual 
natures  was  fed,  and,  starved  as  they  were,  it  tasted 
good.  Many  of  them  had  never  aspired  to  bettering 
their  lot  even  with  small  ventures  such  as  buying 
Jersey  cows  at  double  the  value  of  common  cattle  when 
it  was  reported  that  the  former  gave  four  times  as  much 
milk  and  ate  less,  and  to  these  cautious  individuals 

68 


Abner   Daniel 

Bishop's  visible  writhing  was   sweet  confirmation  of 
their  own  judgment. 

Their  disapproval  of  the  old  man's  effort  to  hurry 
Providence  could  not  have  been  better  shown  than  in 
the  failure  of  them  all  to  comment  on  the  rascally  con 
duct  of  the  Atlanta  lawyer;  they  even  chuckled  over 
that  part  of  the  incident.  To  their  minds  Perkins 
was  a  sort  of  far-off  personification  of  a  necessary  evil 
— who,  like  the  devil  himself,  was  evidently  created 
to  show  mortals  their  limitations.  They  were  not  go 
ing  to  say  what  the  lawyer  had  a  right  to  do  or  should 
avoid  doing,  for  they  didn't  pretend  to  know;  but  they 
did  know  what  their  old  neighbor  ought  to  have  done, 
and  if  they  didn't  tell  him  so  to  his  face  they  would 
let  him  see  it  by  their  actions.  Yes,  Bishop  was  a 
different  thing  altogether.  He  belonged  to  them  and 
theirs.  He  led  in  their  meetings,  prayed  in  public,  and 
had  till  now  headed  the  list  in  all  charitable  movements. 

The  Reverend  Charles  B.  Dole,  a  tall,  spare  man  of 
sixty,  who  preached  the  first,  second,  third,  and  fourth 
Sundays  of  each  month  in  four  different  meeting 
houses  within  a  day's  ride  of  Bishop's,  came  around 
as  the  guest  of  the  farm-house  as  often  as  his  circuit 
would  permit.  He  was  called  the  "  fightin'  preacher," 
because  he  had  had  several  fearless  hand  -  to  -  hand 
encounters  with  certain  moonshiners  whose  conduct 
he  had  ventured  to  call  ungodly,  because  unlawful. 

On  the  second  Saturday  after  Bishop's  mishap,  as 
Dole  was  to  preach  the  next  day  at  Rock  Crest  meeting 
house,  he  rode  up  as  usual  and  turned  his  horse  into 
the  stable  and  fed  him  with  his  own  hands.  Then  he 
joined  Abner  Daniel  on  the  veranda.  Abner  had 
seen  him  ride  up  and  purposely  buried  his  head  in  his 
newspaper  to  keep  from  offering  to  take  the  horse,  for 
Abner  did  not  like  the  preacher  "  any  to  hurt,"  as  he 
would  have  put  it. 

69 


Abner   Daniel 

Dole  did  not  care  much  for  Abner  either.  They  had 
engaged  in  several  doctrinal  discussions  in  which  the 
preacher  had  waxed  furious  over  some  of  Daniel's 
views,  which  he  described  as  decidedly  unorthodox. 
Daniel  had  kept  his  temper  beautifully  and  had  the 
appearance  of  being  amused  through  it  all,  and  this 
Dole  found  harder  to  forgive  than  anything  Abner 
had  said. 

"  You  all  have  had  some  trouble,  I  heer,  sence  I  saw 
you  last/'  said  the  preacher  as  he  sat  down  and  began 
to  wipe  his  perspiring  brow  with  a  big  handkerchief. 

"Well,  I  reckon  it  mought  be  called  that,"  Abner 
replied,  as  he  carefully  folded  his  newspaper  and  put 
it  into  his  coat-pocket.  "  None  of  us  was  expectin'  of  it 
an'  it  sorter  bu'sted  our  calculations.  Alf  had  laid  out 
to  put  new  high-back  benches  in  Rock  Crest,  an'  new 
lamps  an'  one  thing  another,  an'  it  seems  to  me" — 
Abner  wiped  his  too  facile  mouth — "like  I  heerd  'im 
say  one  day  that  you  wasn't  paid  enough  fer  yore 
thunder,  an'  that  he'd  stir  around  an'  see  what  could 
be  done."  Abner's  eyes  twinkled.  "But  lawsy  me! 
I  reckon  ef  he  kin  possibly  raise  the  scads  to  pay  the 
tax  on  his  investment  next  yeer  he'll  do  all  the  Lord 
expects." 

"Huh,  I  reckon!"  grunted  Dole,  irritated  as  usual 
by  Abner's  double  meaning.  "  I  take  it  that  the  Lord 
hain't  got  much  to  do  with  human  speculations  one 
way  or  other." 

"Ef  I  just  had  that  scamp  that  roped  'im  in  before 
me  a  minute  I'd  fix  'im,"  said  Abner.  "  Do  you  know 
what  denomination  Perkins  belongs  to?" 

"  No,  I  don't,"  Dole  blurted  out,  "  an'  what's  more,  I 
don't  care." 

"  Well,  I  acknowledge  it  sorter  interests  me,"  went 
on  our  philosopher,  in  an  inscrutable  tone,  "  beca'se, 
brother  Dole,  you  kin  often  trace  a  man's  good  ur 

70 


Abner   Daniel 

bad  doin's  to  his  belief  in  Bible  matters.  Maybe 
you  don't  remember  Jabe  Lynan  that  stold  Thad  Wil 
son's  stump-suckin'  hoss  an'  was  ketched  an'  put  up. 
I  was  at  the  court-house  in  Darley  when  he  received 
his  sentence.  His  wife  sent  me  to  'im  to  carry  his 
pipe  an'  one  thing  or  other — a  pair  o'  socks  an'  other 
necessary  tricks — a  little  can  o'  lye-soap,  f  er  one  thing. 
She  hadn't  the  time  to  go,  as  she  said  she  had  a  patch 
o'  young  corn  to  hoe  out.  I  found  'im  as  happy  as  ef 
he  was  goin'  off  on  a  excursion.  He  laughed  an' 
'lowed  it  ud  be  some  time  'fore  he  got  back,  an'  I  won 
dered  what  could  'a'  made  him  so  contented,  so  I  made 
some  inquiries  on  that  line.  I  found  that  he  was  a 
firm  believer  in  predestination,  an'  that  what  was  to 
be  was  foreordained.  He  said  that  he  firmly  believed 
he  was  predestinated  to  go  to  the  coal-mines  fer  hoss- 
stealin',  an'  that  life  was  too  short  to  be  kickin'  agin  the 
Lord's  way  o'  runnin'  matters;  besides,  he  said,  he'd 
heerd  that  they  issued  a  plug  o'  tobacco  a  week  to 
chawin'  prisoners,  an'  he  could  prove  that  he  was  one 
o'  that  sort  ef  they'd  look  how  he'd  ground  his  jaw- 
teeth  down  to  the  gums." 

"Huh!"  grunted  Dole  again,  his  sharp,  gray  eyes 
on  Abner's  face,  as  if  he  half  believed  that  some  of  his 
own  theories  were  being  sneered  at.  It  was  true  that 
he,  being  a  Methodist,  had  not  advocated  a  belief  in 
predestination,  but  Abner  Daniel  had  on  more  than 
one  occasion  shown  a  decided  tendency  to  bunch  all 
stringent  religious  opinions  together  and  cast  them 
down  as  out  of  date.  When  in  doubt  in  a  conversation 
with  Abner,  the  preacher  assumed  a  coldness  on  the 
outside  that  was  often  not  consistent  with  the  fires 
within  him.  "I  don't  see  \vhat  all  that's  got  to  do 
with  brother  Bishop's  mistake,"  he  said,  frigidly,  as 
he  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"It  sets  me  to  wonderin'  what  denomination  Per- 

71 


Abner   Daniel 

kins  belongs  to,  that's  all/'  said  Abner,  with  another 
smile.  "  I  know  in  reason  he's  a  big  Ike  in  some  church 
in  Atlanta,  fer  I  never  knowed  a  lawyer  that  wasn't 
foremost  in  that  way  o'  doin'  good.  I'll  bet  a  hoe- 
cake  he  belongs  to  some  highfalutin  crowd  o'  wor 
shippers  that  kneel  down  on  saft  cushions  an'  believe 
in  scoopin'  in  all  they  kin  in  the  Lord's  name,  an'  that 
charity  begins  at  home.  I  think  that  myse'f,  brother 
Dole,  fer  thar  never  was  a  plant  as  hard  to  git  rooted 
as  charity  is,  an'  a  body  ought  to  have  it  whar  they 
kin  watch  it  close.  It'll  die  a  heap  o'  times  ef  you  jest 
look  at  it,  an'  it  mighty  nigh  always  has  bad  soil  ur 
a  drougth  to  contend  with." 

Just  then  Pole  Baker,  who  has  already  been  intro 
duced  to  the  reader,  rode  up  to  the  fence  and  hitched 
his  horse.  He  nodded  to  the  two  men  on  the  veranda, 
and  went  round  to  the  smoke-house  to  get  a  piece  of 
bacon  Bishop  had  promised  to  sell  him  on  credit. 

"Huh!"  Dole  grunted,  and  he  crossed  his  long  legs 
and  swung  his  foot  up  and  down  nervously.  He  had 
the  look  of  a  man  who  was  wondering  why  such  in 
sufferable  bores  as  Abner  should  so  often  accompany 
a  free  dinner.  He  had  never  felt  drawn  to  the  man, 
and  it  irritated  him  to  think  that  just  when  his  men 
tal  faculties  needed  rest,  Abner  always  managed  to 
introduce  the  very  topics  which  made  it  necessary  for 
him  to  keep  his  wits  about  him. 

"Take  that  feller  thar,"  Abner  went  on,  referring  to 
Baker.  "  He's  about  the  hardest  customer  in  this  coun 
ty,  an'  yet  he's  bein'  managed  right  now.  He's  got 
a  wife  an'  seven  children  an'  is  a  holy  terror  when  he 
gits  drunk.  He  used  to  be  the  biggest  dare-devil 
moonshiner  in  all  these  mountains;  but  Alan  kept 
befriendin'  'im  fust  one  way  an'  another  tell  he  up 
one  day  an'  axed  Alan  what  he  could  do  fer  'im.  Alan 
ain't  none  o'  yore  shoutin'  kind  o'  Christians.  He 

72 


Abner  Daniel 

shakes  a  nimble  toe  at  a  shindig  when  he  wants  to, 
an'  knows  the  ace  from  a  ten-spot;  but  he  gits  thar 
with  every  claw  in  the  air  when  sorne'n'  has  to  be  done. 
So,  when  Pole  axed  'im  that,  Alan  jest  said,  as  quiet 
as  ef  he  was  axin'  'im  fer  a  match  to  light  a  cigar, 
'Quit  yore  moonshinin',  Pole/  That  was  all  he  said. 
Pole  looked  'im  straight  in  the  eye  fer  a  minute,  an' 
then  said: 

'"The  hell  you  say  I  By  God,  Alan  Bishop,  you 
don't  mean  that!' 

"'Yes,  I  do,  Pole/  said  Alan,  'quit!  Quit  smack 
off!' 

"'You  ax  that  as  a  favor?'  said  Pole. 

'"Yes,  as  a  favor/  said  Alan,  'an'  you  are  a-goin' 
to  do  it,  too/ 

"Then  Pole  begun  to  contend  with  'im.  'You  are 
a-axin'  that  beca'se  you  think  I'll  be  ketched  up 
with/  he  said;  'but  I  tell  you  the'  ain't  no  man  on 
the  face  o'  the  earth  that  could  find  my  still  now. 
You  could  stand  in  two  feet  of  the  door  to  it  all  day 
an'  not  find  it  if  you  looked  fer  it  with  a  spy-glass.  I 
kin  make  bug-juice  all  the  rest  o'  my  life  an'  sell  it 
without  bein'  ketched/ 

"'I  want  you  to  give  it  up/  said  Alan,  an'  Pole  did. 
It  was  like  pullin'  an  eye-tooth,  but  Pole  yanked  it 
out.  Alan  is  workin'  on  'im  now  to  git  'im  to  quit 
liquor,  but  that  ain't  so  easy.  He  could  walk  a  crack 
with  a  gallon  sloshin'  about  in  'im.  Now,  as  I  started 
to  say,  Alan  'ain't  got  no  cut-and-dried  denomination, 
an'  don't  have  to  walk  any  particular  kind  o'  foot-log 
to  do  his  work,  but  it's  a-goin'  on  jest  the  same.  Now 
I  don't  mean  no  reflection  on  yore  way  o'  hitchin'  wings 
on  folks,  but  I  believe  you  could  preach  yore  sermons 
— sech  as  they  are — in  Pole  Baker's  yeers  till  Gabriel 
blowed  his  lungs  out,  an'  Pole  ud  still  be  moonshinin'. 
An'  sometimes  I  think  that  sech  fellers  as  Alan  Bishop 

73 


Abner   Daniel 

ort  to  be  paid  fer  what  they  do  in  betterin'  the  world. 
I  don't  see  why  you  fellers  ort  always  to  be  allowed  to 
rake  in  the  jack-pot  unless  you'd  accomplish  more'n 
outsiders,  that  jest  iurn  the'r  hands  to  the  job  at  odd 
times." 

Dole  drew  himself  up  straight  and  glared  at  the 
offender. 

"I  think  that  is  a  rather  personal  remark,  brother 
Daniel,"  he  said,  coldly. 

"Well,  maybe  it  is,"  returned  Abner;  "but  I  didn't 
mean  fer  it  to  be.  I've  heerd  you  praise  up  certain 
preachers  fer  the  good  they  was  a-doin',  an'  I  saw  no 
harm  in  mentionin'  Alan's  method.  I  reckon  it's  jest 
a  case  o'  the  shoe  bein'  on  another  foot.  I  was  goin' 
to  tell  you  how  this  misfortune  o'  Alf 's  had  affected 
Pole ;  he's  been  like  a  crazy  man  ever  since  it  happened. 
It's  been  all  Alan  could  do  to  keep  'im  from  goin'  to 
Atlanta  and  chokin'  the  life  out  o'  Perkins.  Pole 
got  so  mad  when  he  wouldn't  let  'im  go  that  he  went 
off  cussin'  'im  fer  all  he  was  worth.  I  wonder  what 
sort  of  a  denomination  a  man  ud  fit  into  that  '11  cuss 
his  best  friends  black  an'  blue  beca'se  they  won't  let 
'im  fight  fer  'em.  Yes,  he'll  fight,  an'  ef  he  ever  does 
jine  the  ranks  above  he'll  do  the  work  o'  ten  men  when 
thar's  blood  to  spill.  I  seed  'im  in  a  row  once  durin' 
election  when  he  was  leggin'  fer  a  friend  o'  his'n;  he 
stood  right  at  the  polls  an'  wanted  to  slug  every  man 
that  voted  agin  'im.  He  knocked  three  men's  teeth 
down  the'r  throats  an'  bunged  up  two  more  so  that 
they  looked  like  they  had  on  false-faces." 

Here  the  preacher  permitted  himself  to  laugh.  Be 
ing  a  fighting  man  himself,  his  heart  warmed  towards 
a  man  who  seemed  to  be  born  to  that  sort  of  thing. 

"  He  looks  like  he  could  do  a  sight  of  it,"  was  his 
comment. 

At  this  juncture  the  subject  of  the  conversation  came 

74 


Abner    Daniel 

round  the  house,  carrying  a  big  piece  of  bacon  wrapped 
in  a  tow  grain-bag. 

"Say  thar,  Pole/'  Abner  called  out  to  the  long,  lank 
fellow.  "We  are  a-goin'  to  have  preachin'  at  Rock 
Crest  to-morrow;  you'd  better  have  a  shirt  washed  an' 
hung  out  to  dry.  They  are  a-beatin'  the  bushes  fer 
yore  sort." 

Pole  Baker  paused  and  brushed  back  his  long,  thick 
hair  from  his  heavy  eyebrows. 

"I've  been  a-waitin'  to  see  ef  meetin'  ever'd  do  you 
any  good,  Uncle  Ab,"  he  laughed.  "They  tell  me 
the  more  you  go  the  wuss  you  git  to  be.  Neil  Fil- 
more  said  t'other  day  ef  you  didn't  quit  shootin'  off 
yore  mouth  they'd  give  you  a  trial  in  meetin'." 

Abner  laughed  good-naturedly  as  he  spat  over  the 
edge  of  the  veranda  floor  to  the  ground. 

"  That's  been  talked,  I  know,  Pole,"  he  said,  "  but 
they  don't  mean  it.  They  all  know  how  to  take  my 
fun.  But  you  come  on  to  meetin';  it  will  do  you 
good." 

"Well,  maybe  I  will,"  promised  Pole,  and  he  came 
to  the  steps,  and,  putting  his  bacon  down,  he  bent 
towards  them. 

"  It's  a  powerful  hard  matter  to  know  exactly  what's 
right  an'  what's  wrong,  in  some  things,"  he  said. 
"  Now  looky  heer."  Thrusting  his  hand  down  into  the 
pocket  of  his  trousers  he  drew  out  a  piece  of  quartz-rock 
with  a  lump  of  yellow  gold  about  the  size  of  a  pea  half 
embedded  in  it.  "  That  thar's  puore  gold.  I  got  it  this 
away :  A  feller  that  used  to  be  my  right  bower  in  my 
still  business  left  me  when  I  swore  off  an'  went  over  to 
Dalonega  to  work  in  them  mines.  T'other  day  he  was 
back  on  a  visit,  an'  he  give  me  this  chunk  an'  said 
he'd  found  it.  Now  I  know  in  reason  that  he  nabbed 
it  while  he  was  at  work,  but  I  don't  think  I'd  have  a 
right  to  report  it  to  the  minin'  company,  an'  so  I'm  jest 

75 


Abner   Daniel 

obleeged  to  receive  stolen  goods.  It  ain't  wuth  more'n 
a  dollar,  they  tell  me,  an'  I'll  hang  on  to  it,  I  reckon, 
ruther  'n  have  a  laborin'  man  discharged  from  a  job. 
I'm  try  in'  my  level  best  to  live  up  to  the  line  now,  an' 
I  don't  know  how  to  manage  sech  a  thing  as  that. 
I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  no  harm  will  be  done 
nohow,  beca'se  miners  ain't  too  well  paid  anyway,  an' 
ef  I  jest  keep  it  an'  don't  git  no  good  out  of  it,  I  won't 
be  in  it  any  more  'n  ef  I'd  never  got  hold  o'  the  blamed 
thing." 

"But  the  law,  brother  Baker,"  said  Dole,  solemnly; 
"without  the  law  we'd  be  an  awful  lot  o'  people,  an' 
every  man  ort  to  uphold  it.  Render  the  things  that 
are  Caesar's  unto  Cassar." 

Pole's  face  was  blank  for  a  moment,  and  Abner  came 
to  his  rescue  with  a  broad  smile  and  sudden  laugh. 

"I  reckon  you  don't  remember  him,  Pole,"  he  said. 
"  He's  dead.  He  was  a  nigger  that  used  to  belong  to 
old  man  Throgmartin  in  the  cove.  He  used  to  be  sech 
an  awful  thief  during  slavery  days  that  it  got  to  be  a 
common  sayin'  that  everything  lyin'  round  mought 
as  well  be  his'n,  fer  he'd  take  it  sooner  ur  later,  any 
ways." 

"I've  heerd  o'  that  nigger,"  said  Pole,  much  to  the 
preacher's  disgust,  which  grew  as  Pole  continued: 
"  Well,  they  say  a  feller  that  knows  the  law  is  broke 
an'  don't  report  it  is  as  guilty  as  the  man  who  does 
the  breakin'.  Now,  Mr.  Dole,  you  know  how  I  come 
by  this  nugget,  an'  ef  you  want  to  do  your  full  duty 
you'll  ride  over  to  Dalonega  an'  report  it  to  the  right 
parties.  I  can't  afford  the  trip." 

Abner  laughed  out  at  this,  and  then  forced  a  serious 
look  on  his  face.  "  That's  what  you  railly  ort  to  do, 
brother  Dole,"  he  said.  "  Them  Caesars  over  thar  ud 
appreciate  it." 

Then  Mrs.  Bishop  came  out  to  shake  hands  with 

76 


Abner   Daniel 

the  preacher,  and  invited  him  to  go  to  his  room  to 
wash  his  face  and  hands.  As  the  tall  man  followed 
his  hostess  away,  Abner  winked  slyly  at  Pole  and 
laughed  under  his  long,  scrawny  hand. 

"Uncle  Ab,  you  ort  to  be  killed,"  smiled  Pole. 
"You've  been  settin'  heer  the  last  half-hour  pokin' 
fun  at  that  feller,  an'  you  know  it.  Well,  I'm  goin' 
on  home.  Sally's  a-goin'  to  fry  some  o'  this  truck 
fer  me,  an'  I'm  as  hungry  as  a  bear." 

A  few  minutes  after  he  had  gone,  Dole  came  out  of 
his  room  and  sat  down  in  his  chair  again.  "That 
seems  to  be  a  sorter  bright  young  man. "  he  remarked. 

"As  bright  as  a  new  dollar,  returned  Abner,  in  a 
tone  of  warm  admiration.  "Did  you  notice  that  big, 
wedge-shaped  head  o'  his'n?  It's  plumb  full  o'  brains. 
One  day  a  feller  come  down  to  Filmore's  store.  He 
made  a  business  o'  feelin'  o'  heads  an'  writin'  out  charts 
at  twenty-five  cents  apiece.  He  didn't  waste  much 
time  on  the  rest  o'  the  scabs  he  examined ;  but  when  he 
got  to  Pole's  noggin  he  talked  fer  a  good  hour.  I 
never  heerd  the  like.  He  said  ef  his  talents  had  been 
properly  directed  Pole  ud  'a'  made  a  big  public  man. 
He  said  he  hadn't  run  across  sech  a  head  in  a  month 
o'  Sundays.  He  was  right,  you  bet,  an'  every  one  o' 
the  seven  brats  Pole's  got  is  jest  as  peert  as  he  is. 
They  are  a-growin'  up  in  idleness  an'  rags,  too.  I 
wisht  I  could  meet  some  o'  them  durn  big  Yankees 
that  are  a-sendin'  the'r  money  down  heer  an'  buildin' 
fine  schools  to  educate  niggers  an'  neglectin'  the'r 
own  race  beca'se  it  fit  agin  'em.  You  cayn't  hardly 
beat  larrrin'  into  a  nigger's  head,  an'  it  ud  be  only 
common-sense  to  spend  money  whar  it  ud  do  the  most 
good.  I  'ain't  got  nothin'  agin  a  nigger  bein'  larnt  to 
read  an'  write,  but  I  cayn't  stomach  the'r  bein'  forced 
ahead  o'  deservin'  white  folks  sooner  'n  the  Lord 
counted  on.  Them  kind  o'  Yankees  is  the  same  sort 

77 


Abner   Daniel 

that  makes  pets  o'  dogs,  an'  pampers  'em  up  when 
pore  white  children  is  in  need  of  food  an'  affection." 

"Pole  looks  like  he  had  natural  capacity/'  said 
Dole.  He  was  fond  of  conversing  with  Abner  on  any 
topic  except  that  of  religious  matters. 

"He'd  make  a  bang-up  detective,"  laughed  Abner. 
"One  day  I  was  at  Filmore's  store.  Neil  sometimes, 
when  he's  rushed,  gits  Pole  to  clerk  fer  'im,  beca'se  he's 
quick  at  figures.  It  happened  that  Pole  had  the  store 
to  'imse'f  one  day  when  Neil  had  gone  off  to  cut  down 
a  bee-tree  with  a  passle  o'  neighbors,  an'  a  triflin'  fel 
ler  come  in  an'  begun  to  nose  about.  An'  when  Pole's 
back  was  turned  to  weigh  up  some  cotton  in  the  seed 
he  stole  a  pocket-book  out  o'  the  show-case.  I  reckon 
Pole  didn't  like  his  looks  much  nohow,  fer  as  soon  as 
the  skunk  had  gone  he  begun  to  look  about  to  see  ef 
he'd  tuck  anything.  All  at  once  he  missed  the  pocket- 
book,  an'  told  Neil  that  night  that  he  was  mighty  nigh 
shore  the  feller  lifted  it,  but  he  couldn't  railly  swear 
to  it.  About  a  week  after  that  he  seed  the  same  feller 
comin'  down  the  road  headed  fer  the  store  on  his  gray 
mule.  Me  'n'  Neil  was  both  thar  an'  Pole  hustled  us 
in  the  back  room,  an'  told  us  to  stay  thar.  He  said 
he  was  a-goin'  to  find  out  ef  the  feller  stold  the  book. 
Neil  was  afeerd  of  a  row  an'  tried  to  prevent  'im,  but 
he  jest  shoved  us  back  an'  shet  the  door  on  us.  Neil 
got  'im  a  crack  in  the  partition  an'  I  found  me  a  knot 
hole. 

"  The  feller  hitched  an'  come  in  an'  said  howdy-do, 
an'  started  to  take  a  cheer  nigh  the  door,  but  Pole 
stopped  'im. 

"'Come  heer  to  the  show-case,'  ses  he;  'I  want  to 
show  you  some'n'.'  The  feller  went,  an'  I  seed  Pole 
yank  out  the  box  'at  had  the  rest  o'  the  pocket-books 
in  it.  '  Look  y'  heer/  Pole  said,  in  a  loud,  steady  voice 
—you  could  'a'  heerd  'im  clean  to  the  creek — '  look  y1 

78 


Abner   Daniel 

heer.  The  regular  price  o'  these  books  is  fifty  cents; 
that's  what  we  sell  'em  fer;  but  you've  got  to  run  yore 
hand  down  in  yore  pocket  an'  give  me  a  dollar  fer  one 
quicker'n  you  ever  made  a  trade  in  yore  life.' 

"'What  in  the  hell  do  you  mean?'  the  feller  said. 

'"I  mean  exactly  what  I  said,  an'  you  are  a-losin' 
time/  said  Pole,  talkin'  louder  an'  louder.  '  The  price 
is  fifty  cents;  but  you  got  to  gi'  me  a  dollar  fer  one. 
Haul  'er  out,  my  friend;  haul  'er  out  I  It'll  be  the 
cheapest  thing  you  ever  bought  in  yore  life.' 

"The  feller  was  as  white  as  a  sheet.  He  gulped 
two  or  three  times  'fore  he  spoke,  then  he  said : '  I  know 
what  you  think;  you  think  I  took  one  t'other  day  when 
I  was  lookin'  in  the  show-case;  but  you  are  mistaken.' 

"'I  never  said  a  word  about  you  takin'  one,'  Pole 
yelled  at  'im,  '  but  you'd  better  yank  out  that  dollar 
an'  buy  one;  you  need  it.' 

"The  feller  did  it.  I  heerd  the  money  clink  as  he 
laid  it  on  the  glass  an'  I  knowed  he  was  convicted. 

"''They  are  only  wuth  fifty  cents/  he  said,  kinder 
faintlike. 

"'Yo're  a  liar/  Pole  yelled  at  'im,  'fer  you've  jest 
paid  a  dollar  fer  one  on  yore  own  accord.  Now  I'll 
jest  give  you  two  minutes  to  straddle  that  mule.  Ef 
you  don't  I'll  take  you  to  the  sheriff  myself,  you 
damned  thief. 

" '  I've  always  done  my  tradin'  heer/  said  the  feller, 
thinkin'  that  ud  sorter  pacify  Pole,  but  he  said :  '  Yes, 
an'  yore  stealin',  too,  I  reckon,  you  black-livered  jail 
bird.  Git  out,  git  out!' 

"  Me  'n'  Neil  come  in  when  the  feller  'd  gone,  but  Pole 
was  actually  too  mad  to  speak.  '  He  got  off  too  durned 
light/  he  said,  after  a  while.  '  I  could  'a'  sold  'im  a  big 
bill  o'  goods  at  a  hundred  per  cent,  profit,  fer  he  had 
plenty  o'  money.  Now  he's  ridin'  off  laughin'  at  me/  " 


!IL  FILMORE'S  store  was  about  half 
a  mile  from  Bishop's  house,  at  the  cross- 
.  ing  of  the  Darley  road  and  another  lead 
ing  into  East  Tennessee.  Alan  had  gone 
down  there  one  day  to  engage  white 
'labor  to  work  in  his  growing  cotton, 
negroes  being  scarce,  owing  to  the  tendency  of  that 
race  to  flock  into  the  towns.  With  the  aid  of  Pole 
Baker,  who  was  clerking  that  day  for  Filmore,  he 
soon  employed  the  men  he  wanted  and  started  to 
walk  back  home.  On  the  way  he  was  overtaken 
by  his  uncle,  who  was  returning  from  Darley  in  his 
wagon. 

"  Hold  on  thar,"  the  old  man  called  out;  "  ef  you  are 
a-goin'  home  I'll  rest  yore  legs." 

Alan  smiled  as  he  climbed  up  into  the  seat  by  the 
old  man. 

"I  shall  certainly  appreciate  it,"  he  said.  "I'm 
tired  out  to-day." 

"I  sorter  thought  you  looked  flabbergasted,"  re 
turned  Abner,  as  he  swung  his  whip  over  the  backs 
of  his  sleek  horses.  "  Well,  I  reckon  I  could  afford  to 
give  you  a  ride,  I  hauled  that  cuss  Dole  three  miles 
goin'  t'other  way.  He  had  the  cheek  to  yell  at  me 
from  Habbersham's  gin-house  an'  axed  me  ef  I'd  haul 
'im.  Then  he  kept  me  waitin'  till  he'd  helt  prayer  an' 
read  to  the  family." 

"You  don't  seem  to  like  him/'  said  Alan.  "I've 
noticed  that  for  some  time." 

80 


Abner   Daniel 

"  I  reckon  I  don't  to  any  great  extent,"  said  Abner, 
clucking  to  his  tired  horses;  "but  it  ain't  raily  to  my 
credit.  A  feller's  wrong  som'er's,  Alan,  that  allows 
hisse'f  to  hate  anything  the  Lord  ever  made.  I've 
struggled  agin  that  proposition  fer  twenty-five  yeer. 
All  this  talk  about  the  devil  makin'  the  bad  an'  the 
Lord  the  good  is  talk  through  a  hat.  Bad  things 
was  made  'fore  the  devil  ever  jumped  from  his  high 
estate  ur  he'd  never  preferred  a  fork  to  a  harp.  I've 
tuck  notice,  too,  that  the  wust  things  I  ever  seed  was 
sometimes  at  the  root  o'  the  best.  Manure  is  a  bad 
thing,  but  a  cake  of  it  will  produce  a  daisy  bigger  'n 
any  in  the  field.  Dole  makes  me  gag  sometimes; 
but  as  narrer  as  he  is  twixt  the  eyes,  he  may  do  some 
good.  I  reckon  that  hell-fire  sermon  he  give  us  last 
August  made  some  of  the  crowd  sweat  out  a  little  o' 
the'r  meanness.  I'd  'a'  been  more  merciful  on  sech 
a  hot  day,  though.  He  mought  'a'  reserved  that  ha 
rangue  fer  some  cold  day  in  December  when  the  stove- 
flues  wouldn't  work.  Ef  I'd  'a'  been  a-goin'  tell  about 
future  torment  that  hot  day  I'd  'a'  said  that  every  lost 
soul  was  made  to  set  on  a  cake  o'  ice  in  a  windy  spot 
through  all  eternity,  an'  I'd  'a'  started  out  by  singin' 
'On  Greenland's  Icy  Mountain.'  But  that  ain't  what 
I  axed  you  to  git  in  my  wagon  fer." 

"You  didn't  intend  to  try  to  convert  me,  then?" 
"  No,  I  didn't,  fer  you  are  jest  my  sort  of  a  Christian 
— better'n  me,  a  sight,  fer  you  don't  shoot  off  yore 
bazoo  on  one  side  or  t'other,  an'  that's  the  habit  I'm 
tryin'  to  quit.  Ef  I  could  hold  in  when  Dole  gits  to 
spoutin'  I'd  be  a  better  man.  I  think  I'll  do  better 
now.  I've  got  a  tenpenny  nail  in  my  pocket  an'  when 
ever  he  starts  in  I'm  goin'  to  bite  it  an'  keep  my  holt  on 
it  till  he  stops.  Yes,  you  are  jest  my  sort  of  a  Chris 
tian.  You  believe  in  breathin'  fresh  air  into  yore 
windpipe,  thankin'  God  with  a  clear  eye  an'  a  good 
6  8l 


Abner   Daniel 

muscle,  an'  takin'  what  He  gives  you  an'  axin'  'Im 
to  pass  more  ef  it's  handy.  You  know  the  Lord  has 
sent  you  a'  invite  to  His  table,  an'  you  believe  in  eatin' 
an'  drinkin'  an'  makin'  merry,  jest  like  you'd  have  a 
body  do  that  was  stoppin'  over  night  with  you.  Yes, 
I  wanted  to  say  some'n'  else  to  you.  As  I  got  to  the 
widder  Snowden's  house,  a  mile  this  side  o'  Darley, 
she  came  out  an'  axed  me  ef  I'd  object  to  deliverin'  a 
couple  o'  smoke-cured  hams  to  a  feller  in  town  that  had 
ordered  'em.  Of  course  that's  what  a'  old  bach'  like 
me  's  heer  fer,  so  I  let  'er  fling  'em  in  the  back  end." 

The  speaker  paused  and  smiled  knowingly,  and  Alan 
noticed  that  he  slowed  his  horses  up  by  drawing  firmly 
on  the  reins  as  if  he  feared  that  their  arrival  at  the 
farm-house  might  interrupt  what  he  had  to  say. 
"Well,"  said  Alan,  "you  delivered  the  hams?" 
"Yes."  Abner  was  looking  straight  ahead  of  him. 
"They  was  fer  Colonel  Seth  Barclay.  I  driv'  up  to 
the  side  gate,  after  I'd  helloed  in  front  till  I  was  hoarse, 
an'  who  do  you  reckon  come  trippin'  out  o'  the  dinin'- 
room?  It  was  her.  Ef  you  hain't  never  ketched  'er 
off'n  her  guard  round  the  house,  you've  missed  a  treat. 
Durned  ef  I  don't  like  'er  better  without  a  hat  on  than 
with  all  the  fluffy  flamdoodle  that  gals  put  on  when 
they  go  out.  She  was  as  neat  as  a  new  pin,  an'  seemed 
powerful  glad  to  see  me.  That  made  me  bless  the 
widder  Snowden  fer  sendin'  me  thar.  She  said  the 
cook  was  off  som'er's,  an'  that  old  nigger  Ned,  the 
stable-man,  was  in  the  garden-patch  behind  the  house, 
so  she  was  thar  by  'erse'f.  She  actually  looked  like 
she  wanted  to  tote  in  the  hams  'erse'f  ruther'n  bother 
me;  but  you  bet  my  old  bones  hopped  off'n  this  seat 
quicker'n  you  could  say  Jack  Robinson  with  yore 
mouth  open.  I  was  afeerd  my  team  wouldn't  stand, 
fer  fellers  was  a-scootin'  by  on  bicycles ;  but  I  tuck  the 
hams  to  the  back  porch  an'  put  'em  on  a  shelf  out'n 

82 


Abner  Daniel 

re'ch  o'  the  dogs.  Then  I  went  back  to  my  wagon. 
She  follered  me  to  the  fence,  an'  I  noticed  that  some'n' 
was  wrong  with  'er.  She  looked  so  funny,  an'  droopy 
about  the  mouth,  an'  kept  a-talkin'  like  she  was  afeerd 
I'd  fly  off.  She  axed  all  about  Adele  an'  how  she  was 
a-makin'  out  down  in  Atlanta,  an'  said  she'd  heerd 
that  Sis  was  mighty  popular  with  the  young  men,  an' 
from  that  she  axed  about  my  craps  an'  the  meetin' 
goin'  on  at  Big  Bethel.  Finally  she  got  right  white 
about  the  mouth,  an'  said,  kinder  shaky,  that  she 
was  afeerd  you  was  mad  about  some'n'  her  pa'd  said 
about  you,  an'  I  never  seed  a  woman  as  nigh  cryin' 
as  she  was  without  doin'  of  it. 

" I  told  'er  I  was  at  the  fust  of  it;  but  I'd  noticed  how 
worried  you've  looked  heer  of  late,  an'  so  I  told  'er  I'd 
been  afeerd  some'n'  had  come  betwixt  you  two.  Then 
she  put  her  head  down  on  the  top  rail  o'  the  fence  an' 
helt  it  thar  fer  a  good  minute.  After  a  while  she  looked 
up  an'  told  me  all  about  it  an'  ended  by  axin'  me  ef  I 
thought  she  was  to  blame  in  the  matter.  I  told  'er 
no ;  but  her  old  skunk  of  a  daddy  had  acted  sech  a  fool 
that  I  couldn't  hold  in.  I  reckon  I  told  'er  jest  about 
what  I  thought  o'  him  an'  the  more  I  raked  up  agin 
'im  the  better  she  seemed  pleased.  I  tried  to  pin  'er 
down  to  what  she'd  be  willin'  to  do  in  a  pinch  ef  her  pa 
continued  to  hold  out  agin  you,  but  she  was  too  sharp 
to  commit  'erse'f.  It  jest  looked  like  she  wanted  to 
make  up  with  you  an'  didn't  want  no  row  nuther." 

The  horses  stopped  to  drink  at  a  clear  stream  of 
water  which  ran  across  the  road  on  a  bed  of  brown 
pebbles.  The  bridles  were  too  tight  to  allow  them  to 
lower  their  heads,  so  Alan  went  out  on  the  heavy  tongue 
between  the  pair  and  unfastened  the  reins.  When  he 
had  regained  his  seat  he  told  the  old  man  in  detail  all 
that  had  happened  at  the  dance  at  the  hotel,  ending 
with  the  advice  he  had  received  from  Rayburn  Miller. 

83 


Abner   Daniel 

"  I  don't  know  about  that/'  Abner  said.  "  Maybe 
Miller  could  call  a  halt  like  that  an'  go  on  like  nothin' 
had  happened.  I  don't  say  he  could  nur  couldn't; 
but  it's  fool  advice.  You  mought  miss  it,  an'  regret  it 
to  yore  dyin'  day." 

Alan  looked  at  him  in  some  surprise;  he  had  hardly 
expected  just  that  stand  011  the  part  of  a  confirmed  old 
bachelor  like  his  uncle.  The  old  man's  glance  swept 
dreamily  over  the  green  fields  on  either  side  of  the 
road  across  which  the  red  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were 
streaming.  Then  he  took  a  deep  breath  and  lowered 
the  reins  till  they  rested  on  the  backs  of  the  horses. 

"My  boy/'  he  began,  "I'm  a  good  mind  to  tell  you 
some'n'  that  I  hain't  mentioned  fer  mighty  nigh  forty 
yeer.  I  don't  believe  anything  but  my  intrust  in  that 
town  gal  an'  you  would  make  me  bring  it  up.  Huh! 
Ray  Miller  says  you  kin  pass  'er  over  jest  as  ef  you'd 
never  seed  'er,  does  he?  An'  go  on  an'  pick  an'  choose 
agin.  Huh!  I  wasn't  as  old  as  you  are  by  five  yeer 
when  the  one  I'm  talkin'  about  passed  away,  jest  a 
week  after  me  'n'  her'd  come  to  a  understandin'.  I've 
seed  women,  women,  women,  sence  I  seed  'er  corpse 
that  day  amongst  all  that  pile  o'  wild  flowers  that  old 
an'  young  fetched  from  the  woods  whar  me  'n'  'er  used 
to  walk,  but  ef  I  live  to  be  as  old  as  that  thar  hill  I'll 
never  forget  my  feelin'.  I  kin  see  'er  right  now  as 
plain  as  I  did  then,  an'  sometimes  my  heart  aches  as 
bad.  I  reckon  you  know  now  why  I  never  got  married. 
Folks  has  poked  a  lots  o'  fun  at  me,  an'  I  tuck  it  as  it 
was  intended,  but  a  lots  o'  times  what  they  said  made 
me  suffer  simply  awful.  They've  picked  out  this  un 
an'  that  un,  from  spring  chickins  to  hags  o'  all  ages, 
shapes, an'  sizes;  but  the  very  thought  o'  givin'  any 
body  her  place  made  me  sick.  Thar  never  was  but 
one  fer  me.  I  may  be  a  fool,  but  I  believe  I  was  in 
tended  fer  her.  Shucks!  Sech  skip-abouts  as  Miller 


Abner   Daniel 

may  talk  sech  bosh  as  that,  but  it's  beca'se  the  Lord 
never  give  'em  the  glory  o'  the  other  thing.  It  larnt 
me  the  truth  about  the  after-life;  I  know  thar's  a  time 
to  come,  an'  a  blessed  one,  ur  the  Lord  never  would 
'a'  give  me  that  taste  of  it.  She's  som'er's  out  o'  harm's 
way,  an'  when  me  'n'  her  meet  I'll  not  have  a  wrinkle, 
an'  I'll  be  able  to  walk  as  spry  an'  hopeful  as  I  did 
when  she  was  heer.  Thar  ort  to  be  punishment  re 
served  fer  hard-headed  fools  that  separate  lovin'  young 
folks  beca'se  one  ur  t'other  hain't  jest  so  many  dollars 
tied  in  a  rag.  Don't  you  listen  to  Miller.  I  don't  say 
you  ort  to  plunge  right  in  an'  make  the  old  man  mad ; 
but  don't  give  up.  Ef  she's  what  I  think  she  is,  an' 
she  sees  you  ain't  a-goin'  to  run  after  no  fresh  face, 
she'll  stick  to  you  like  the  bark  on  a  tree.  The  wait 
won't  hurt  nuther  one  of  you,  either.  My  wait  ain't 
a-hurtin'  me,  an'  yore'n  won't  you.  I  never  seed  a 
young  woman  I  liked  better  'n  I  do  the  one  you  select 
ed,  an'  I've  sent  up  many  a  petition  that  you'd  both 
make  it  all  right." 

The  old  man  raised  his  reins  and  clucked  to  his 
horses. 

"Uncle  Ab,"  said  Alan,  "you've  made  a  better 
man  of  me.  I've  had  a  lot  of  trouble  over  this,  but  you 
make  me  hope.  I've  tried  to  give  her  up,  but  I  simply 
cannot  do  it." 

"She  ain't  a-goin'  to  give  you  up,  nuther,"  replied 
Abner;  "that's  the  purty  part  about  it.  Thar  ain't 
no  give  up  in  'er.  She  ain't  that  sort.  She's  goin' 
to  give  that  daddy  o'  her'n  a  tussle." 


XI 

IE  morning  early  in  July,  as  Alan  was 
'passing  Pole  Baker's  cabin,  on  his  way 
jto  Barley,  Pole's  wife  came  out  to  the 
fence  and  stopped  him.  She  was  a 
slender,  ill-clad  woman,  who  had  once 
'been  pretty,  and  her  face  still  had  a 
sort  of  wistful  attractiveness  that  was  appealing  to 
one  who  knew  what  she  had  been  through  since  her 
marriage. 

"Are  you  goin'  to  town,  Mr.  Alan?"  she  asked, 
nervously. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Baker,"  Alan  answered.  "Is  there  any 
thing  I  can  do  for  you?" 

She  did  not  reply  at  once,  but  came  through  the 
little  gate,  which  swung  on  wooden  hinges,  and  stood 
looking  up  at  him,  a  thin,  hesitating  hand  on  his  bridle- 
rein. 

"  I'm  afeerd  some'n's  happened  to  Pole,"  she  faltered. 
"  He  hain't  been  home  fer  two  whole  days  an'  nights. 
It's  about  time  fer  'im  to  spree  agin,  an'  I'm  powerful 
afeerd  he's  in  trouble.  I  'lowed  while  you  was  in 
town  that  you  mought  inquire  about  'im,  an'  let  me 
know  when  you  come  back.  That  ud  sorter  free  my 
mind  a  little.  I  didn't  close  my  eyes  all  last  night." 
"I'll  do  all  I  can,  Mrs.  Baker,"  Alan  promised. 
"But  you  mustn't  worry;  Pole  can  take  care  of  him 
self,  drunk  or  sober.  I'll  be  back  to-night." 

Alan  rode  on,  leaving  the  pathetic  figure  at  the  gate 

86 


Abner   Daniel 

looking  after  him.  "I  wonder,"  he  mused,  "what 
Uncle  Ab  would  say  about  love  that  has  that  sort  of 
reward.  Poor  woman!  Pole  was  her  choice,  and  she 
has  to  make  the  best  of  it.  Perhaps  she  loves  the 
good  that's  in  the  rascal." 

He  found  Rayburn  Miller  at  his  desk,  making  out 
some  legal  document.  "Take  a  seat/'  said  Miller, 
"I'll  be  through  in  a  minute.  What's  the  news  out 
your  way?"  he  asked,  as  he  finished  his  work  and  put 
down  his  pen. 

"Nothing  new,  I  believe,"  said  Alan.  "I've  been 
away  for  two  days.  Not  having  anything  else  to  do, 
I  made  it  my  business  to  ride  over  every  foot  of  my 
father's  big  investment,  and,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I've 
come  to  you  with  a  huge  idea.  Don't  laugh;  I  can't 
help  it.  It  popped  in  my  head  and  sticks,  that's  all." 

"Good.     Let  me  have  it." 

"Before  I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  Alan,  "I  want 
you  to  promise  not  to  ridicule  me.  I'm  as  green  as  a 
gourd  in  business  matters;  but  the  idea  has  hold  of 
me,  and  I  don't  know  that  even  your  disapproval  will 
make  me  let  it  loose." 

"That's  a  good  way  to  put  it,"  laughed  Miller. 
"The  idea  has  hold  of  you  and  you  can't  let  it  loose. 
It  applies  more  closely  to  investments  than  anything 
else.  Once  git  into  a  deal  and  you  are  afraid  to  let  it 
go — like  the  chap  that  held  the  calf  and  called  for  help." 

"Well,  here  it  is,"  said  Alan.  "I've  made  up  my 
mind  that  a  railroad  can — and  shall — be  built  from 
these  two  main  lines  to  my  father's  lumber  bonanza." 

Miller  whistled.  A  broad  smile  ingulfed  the  pucker 
of  his  lips,  and  then  his  face  dropped  into  seriousness. 
A  look  almost  of  pity  for  his  friend's  credulity  and  in 
experience  came  into  his  eyes. 

"  I  must  say  you  don't  want  a  little  thing,  my  boy," 
he  said,  indulgently.  "Remember  you  are  talking 

87 


Abner   Daniel 

to  a  fellow  that  has  rubbed  up  against  the  moneyed 
world  considerable  for  a  chap  raised  in  the  country. 
The  trouble  with  you,  Alan,  is  that  you  have  got  hered 
ity  to  contend  with;  you  are  a  chip  off  the  old  block 
in  spite  of  your  belonging  to  a  later  generation.  You 
have  inherited  your  father's  big  ideas.  You  are  a 
sort  of  Colonel  Sellers,  who  sees  millions  in  everything 
you  look  at." 

Alan's  face  fell,  but  there  remained  in  it  a  tenacious 
expression  that  won  Miller's  admiration  even  while 
he  deplored  it.  There  was,  too,  a  ring  of  confidence 
in  the  young  farmer's  tone  when  he  replied : 

"  How  much  would  a  railroad  through  that  country, 
eighteen  miles  in  length,  cost?" 

"Nothing  but  a  survey  by  an  expert  could  answer 
that,  even  approximately,"  said  the  lawyer,  leaning 
back  in  his  creaking  chair.  "  If  you  had  the  right  of 
way,  a  charter  from  the  State,  and  no  big  tunnels  to 
make  nor  long  bridges  to  build,  you  might,  I  should 
say,  construct  the  road  alone  —  without  locomotives 
and  rolling-stock  generally  —  for  a  little  matter  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand.  I  don't  know;  I'm 
only  guessing ;  but  it  wouldn't  fall  under  that  esti 
mate." 

"I  didn't  think  it  would,"  replied  Alan,  growing 
more  enthusiastic.  "Now  then,  if  there  was  a  rail 
road  to  my  father's  property,  how  much  would  his 
twenty  thousand  acres  be  worth?" 

Miller  smiled  again  and  began  to  figure  on  a  scrap 
of  paper  with  a  pencil.  "Oh,  as  for  that,"  he  said, 
"it  would  really  be  worth — standing  uncut,  unsawn, 
including  a  world  of  tan-bark — at  least  twenty -five 
dollars  an  acre,  say  a  clear  half  million  for  it  all.  Oh, 
I  know  it  looks  as  plain  as  your  nose  on  your  face  ; 
things  always  do  on  paper.  It  looks  big  and  it  shines ; 
so  does  a  spider-web  in  the  sunshine  to  a  fly ;  but  you 


Abner   Daniel 

don't  want  to  be  no  fly,  my  boy ;  and  you  don't  want 
any  spider-webs — on  the  brain,  anyway." 

Alan  stood  up  and  walked  to  the  door  and  back; 
finally  he  shrugged  his  broad  shoulders.  "I  don't 
care  what  you  say,"  he  declared,  bringing  his  hand 
down  firmly  on  Miller's  desk.  "  It  will  pay,  as  sure  as 
I'm  alive.  There's  no  getting  around  the  facts.  It 
will  take  a  quarter  of  a  million  investment  to  market 
a  half  -  million  -  dollar  bunch  of  timber  with  the  land 
thrown  in  and  the  traffic  such  a  road  would  secure  to 
help  pay  expenses.  There  are  men  in  the  world  look 
ing  for  such  opportunities  and  I'm  going  to  give  some 
body  a  chance." 

"  You  have  not  looked  deep  enough  into  it,  my  boy," 
mildly  protested  Miller.  "  You  haven't  figured  on  the 
enormous  expense  of  running  such  a  road  and  the 
dead  loss  of  the  investment  after  the  lumber  is  moved 
out.  You'd  have  a  railroad  property  worth  a  quarter 
of  a  million  on  your  hands.  I  can't  make  you  see  my 
position.  I  simply  say  to  you  that  I  wouldn't  touch  a 
deal  like  that  with  a  ten-foot  pole." 

Alan  laughed  good-naturedly  as  he  laid  his  hand 
on  his  friend's  shoulder.  "I  reckon  you  think  I'm 
off,"  he  said,  "  but  sooner  or  later  I'm  going  to  put  this 
thing  through.  Do  you  hear  me?  I'll  put  it  through 
if  it  takes  ten  years  to  do  it.  I  want  to  make  the  old 
man  feel  that  he  has  not  made  such  a  fool  of  himself; 
I  want  to  get  even  with  the  Thompson  crowd,  and  Per 
kins,  and  everybody  that  is  now  poking  fun  at  a  help 
less  old  man.  I  shall  begin  by  raising  money  some 
way  or  other  to  pay  taxes,  and  hold  on  to  every  inch  of 
the  ground." 

Miller's  glance  fell  before  the  fierce  fire  of  Alan's 
eyes,  and  for  the  first  time  his  tone  wavered. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "you  may  have  the  stuff  in  you 
that  big  speculators  are  made  of,  and  I  may  simply  be 

89 


Abner  Daniel 

prejudiced  against  the  scheme  on  account  of  your 
father's  blind  plunging,  and  what  some  men  would 
call  over-cautiousness  on  my  part.  I  may  be  trying  to 
prevent  what  you  really  ought  to  do ;  but  I  am  advis 
ing  you  as  a  friend.  I  only  know  /  would  be  more 
cautious.  Of  course,  you  may  try.  You'd  not  lose  in 
doing  that;  in  fact,  you'd  gain  experience.  I  should 
say  that  big  dealers  in  lumber  are  the  men  you  ought 
to  see  first.  They  know  the  values  of  such  invest 
ments,  and  they  are  reaching  out  in  all  directions  now. 
They  have  cleaned  up  the  timber  near  the  railroads." 


XII 

{ILLER  accompanied  Alan  to  the  door. 
Old  Trabue  stood  in  front  of  his  office 
in  his  shirt  -  sleeves,  his  battered  silk 
hat  on  the  back  part  of  his  head.  He 
was  fanning  himself  with  a  palm -leaf 
fan  and  freely  using  his  handkerchief 
on  his  brow.  He  bowed  cordially  to  Alan  and  came 
towards  him. 

"I  want  to  ask  you/'  he  began,  "has  Pole  Baker 
any  way  of  raisin'  money?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of,"  laughed  Alan.  "I  don't 
know  whether  he's  got  a  clear  title  to  the  shirt  on  his 
back.  He  owes  everybody  out  our  way.  My  father 
is  supplying  him  on  time  now." 

"That  was  my  impression,"  said  Trabue.  "He 
wanted  me  to  defend  'im  the  other  day,  but  he  couldn't 
satisfy  me  about  the  fee,  an'  I  let  him  go.  He  first 
said  he  could  give  me  a  lien  on  a  mule,  but  he  finally 
admitted  that  it  wasn't  his." 

"He's  not  in  trouble,  is  he?"  exclaimed  Alan,  sud 
denly  recalling  Mrs.  Baker's  uneasiness. 

Trabue  looked  at  Miller,  who  stood  leaning  in  the 
doorway,  and  laughed.  "Well,  I  reckon  he  might 
call  it  that.  That  chap  owned  the  town  two  days  ago. 
He  got  blind,  stavin'  drunk,  an'  wanted  to  whip  us 
from  one  end  o'  the  place  to  the  other.  The  marshals 
are  afraid  of  'im,  for  they  know  he'll  shoot  at  the  drop 
of  a  hat,  an'  the  butt  of  it  was  stickin'  out  o'  his  hip- 

91 


Abner   Daniel 

pocket  in  plain  sight.  Was  you  thar,  Ray  burn? 
Well,  it  was  better  'n  a  circus.  Day  before  yesterday 
thar  was  a  sort  o'  street  temperance  lecturer  in  front 
o'  the  Johnston  House,  speakin'  on  a  dry-goods  box. 
He  had  a  lot  o'  gaudy  pictures  illustratin'  the  appear 
ance  of  a  drinkin'  man's  stomach  an'  liver,  compared 
to  one  in  a  healthy  condition.  He  was  a  sort  of  a 
snide  faker,  out  fer  what  he  could  git  dropped  in  a  hat, 
an'  Pole  was  sober  enough  to  git  on  to  his  game.  Pole 
stood  thar  with  the  rest,  jest  about  able  to  stand,  an' 
that  was  all.  Finally,  when  the  feller  got  warmed  up 
an'  got  to  screechin',  Pole  begun  to  deny  what  he 
was  sayin'.  As  fast  as  he'd  make  a  statement  Pole 
would  flatly  deny  it.  The  feller  on  the  box  didn't 
know  what  a  tough  customer  he  had  to  handle  or  he'd 
'a  gone  slow.  As  it  was,  he  p'inted  a  finger  o'  scorn 
at  Pole  an'  helt  'im  up  fer  a  example.  Pole  wasn't 
sober  by  a  long  shot,  but  you'd  'a'  thought  he  was,  fer 
he  was  as  steady  as  a  post.  He  kept  grinnin',  as  cool  as 
a  cucumber,  an'  sayin',  '  Now  you  know  yo're  a-lyin', 
stranger  —  jest  a-lyin'  to  get  a  few  dimes  drapped  in 
yore  hat.  You  know  nobody's  stomach  don't  look 
like  that  durn  chromo.  You  never  seed  inside  of  a 
drinkin'  man,  an'  yo're  the  biggest  liar  that  ever  walked 
the  earth. '  This  made  the  crowd  laugh  at  the  little, 
dried-up  feller,  an'  he  got  as  mad  as  Old  Nick.  He 
begun  to  tell  Pole  his  liver  was  swelled  from  too  much 
whiskey,  an'  that  he'd  bet  he  was  jest  the  sort  to  beat 
his  wife.  Most  of  us  thought  that  ud  make  Pole  jump 
on  'im,  but  he  seemed  to  enjoy  naggin'  the  feller  too 
much  to  sp'ile  it  by  a  fight.  A  nigger  boy  had  been 
carry  in'  round  a  bell  and  a  sign  advertisin'  Webb's 
auction  sale,  an'  stopped  to  see  the  fun.  Pole  heerd 
the  tinkle  of  the  bell,  an'  tuck  it  an'  begun  to  ring  it  in 
the  lecturer's  face.  The  harder  the  feller  spoke  the 
harder  Pole  rung.  It  was  the  damnedest  racket  ever 

92 


Abner   Daniel 

heerd  on  a  public  square.  Part  of  the  crowd — the  good 
church  folks — begun  to  say  it  was  a  disgrace  to  the 
town  to  allow  a  stranger  to  be  treated  that  away,  sence 
thar  was  no  law  agin  public  speakin'  in  the  streets. 
They  was  in  fer  callin'  a  halt,  but  all  the  rest — the 
drinkin'  men,  an'  I  frankly  state  I  was  one — secretly 
hoped  Pole  would  ring  'im  down.  When  the  pore  devil 
finally  won  I  felt  like  yellin'  hooray,  fer  I  glory  in  the 
pluck  even  of  a  dare-devil,  if  he's  a  North  Georgian  an' 
white.  The  lecturer  had  to  stop  without  his  collection, 
an'  went  off  to  the  council  chamber  swearin'  agin  the 
town  fer  allowin'  him  to  be  treated  that  away.  Thar 
wasn't  anything  fer  the  mayor  to  do  but  order  Pole's 
arrest,  but  it  took  four  men  —  two  regulars  and  two 
deputized  men — to  accomplish  it. 

"The  trial  was  the  richest  thing  I  ever  attended. 
Pole  had  sobered  up  jest  enough  to  be  witty,  an'  he 
had  no  more  respect  fer  Bill  Barrett's  court  than  he 
had  fer  the  lecturer's  platform.  Him  an'  Barrett  used  to 
fish  an'  hunt  together  when  they  was  boys,  an'  Pole 
kept  callin'  him  Bill.  It  was  Bill  this  an'  Bill  that ;  an' 
as  Barrett  had  only  been  in  office  a  month,  he  hardly 
knew  how  to  rise  to  his  proper  dignity,  especially  when 
he  saw  the  crowd  was  laughin'  at  his  predicament. 
When  I  declined  to  defend  'im,  Pole  attempted  to  read 
the  law  on  the  case  to  Barrett  an'  show  whar  he  was 
right.  Barrett  let  'im  talk  because  he  didn't  know 
how  to  stop  'im,  an'  Pole  made  the  best  defence  I  ever 
heerd  from  a  unlettered  man.  It  kept  the  crowd  in  a 
roar.  For  a  while  I  swear  it  looked  like  Pole  was  goin' 
to  cleer  hisse'f,  but  Barrett  had  to  do  his  duty,  an'  so 
he  fined  Pole  thirty  dollars,  or  in  default  thereof  to 
break  rock  on  the  streets  fer  ten  days.  You  ort  to  'a' 
heerd  Pole  snort.  'Looky  heer,  Bill!'  he  said,  'you 
know  as  well  as  yo're  a-settin'  cocked  up  thar,  makin' 
folks  say  '  yore  honor '  ever'  breath  they  draw,  that  I 

93 


Abner   Daniel 

ain't  a-goin'  to  break  no  rock  in  that  br'ilin'  sun  fer 
ten  day  'ca'se  I  beat  that  skunk  at  his  own  game!' 

" '  You'll  have  to  do  it  if  you  don't  pay  out, '  Barrett 
told  'im. 

" '  Well,  I  jest  won't  pay  out,  an'  I  won't  break  rock 
nuther,'  Pole  said.  'You've  heerd  about  the  feller 
that  could  lead  a  hoss  to  water  but  couldn't  make 
'im  drink,  hain't  you?  Well,  I'm  the  hoss.' 

"  Yesterday  was  Pole's  fust  day  on  the  street.  They 
put  a  ball  an'  chain  to  one  of  his  ankles  an'  sent  'im 
out  with  the  nigger  gang,  but  all  day  yesterday  an' 
to-day  he  hain't  worked  a  lick.  He's  as  stubborn  as 
a  mule.  Thar's  been  a  crowd  around  'im  all  the  time. 
You  kin  see  'im  standin'  up  as  straight  as  a  post  in 
the  middle  of  the  street  from  one  end  of  it  to  the  other. 
I'm  sorter  sorry  fer  'im;  he  looks  like  he's  ashamed  at 
bottom,  but  don't  want  to  give  in.  The  funniest  thing 
about  the  whole  thing  is  that  Pole  seems  to  know  more 
about  the  law  than  the  mayor.  He  says  unless  they 
force  him  to  work  in  the  specified  ten  days  they  can't 
hold  him  any  longer,  an'  that  if  they  attempt  to  flog 
'im  he'll  kill  the  first  man  that  lays  hands  on  him. 
I  think  Bill  Barrett  likes  him  too  well  to  have  'im  whip 
ped,  an'  the  whole  town  is  guyin'  him,  an'  axin'  'im 
why  he  don't  make  Pole  set  in." 

Alan  went  down  the  street  to  see  Pole.  He  found  him 
seated  on  a  large  stone,  a  long-handled  rock-hammer 
at  his  feet.  He  looked  up  from  under  his  broad-brimmed 
hat,  and  a  crestfallen  look  came  into  his  big,  brown 
eyes. 

"I'm  sorry  to  see  this,  Pole,"  said  Alan. 

Pole  stood  up  at  his  full  height,  the  chain  clanking 
as  he  rose.  "  They  hain't  treated  me  right  about  this 
matter,  Alan  Bishop,"  he  said,  half  resentfully,  half 
as  if  he  recognized  his  own  error.  "Bill  knows  he 
hain't  done  the  fair  thing.  I  know  I  was  full,  but  I 

94 


Abner   Daniel 

jest  wanted  to  have  my  fun.  That  don't  justify  him 
in  puttin'  me  out  heer  with  these  niggers  fer  folks  to 
gap'  at,  an'  he  knows  it.  He  ain't  a  friend  right.  Me  'n' 
him  has  slep'  together  on  the  same  pile  o'  leaves,  an' 
I've  let  'im  pull  down  on  a  squirrel  when  I  could  'a' 
knocket  it  from  its  perch;  an'  I've  lent  'im  my  pointer 
an'  gun  many  an'  many  a  time.  But  he's  showed 
what  he  is!  He's  got  the  wrong  sow  by  the  yeer, 
though,  fer  ef  he  keeps  me  heer  till  Christmas  I'll 
never  crack  a  rock,  unless  I  do  it  by  accidentally  step- 
pin'  on  it.  Mark  my  words,  Alan  Bishop,  thar'll 
be  trouble  out  o'  this." 

"Don't  talk  that  way,  Pole,"  said  Alan.  "You've 
broken  the  law  and  they  had  to  punish  you  for  it. 
If  they  hadn't  they  would  have  made  themselves  ridic 
ulous.  Why  didn't  you  send  me  word  you  were  in 
trouble,  Pole?" 

The  fellow  hung  his  head,  and  then  he  blurted  out : 

"  Beca'se  I  knowed  you  would  make  a  fool  o'  yorese'f 
an'  try  to  pay  me  out.  Damn  it,  Alan  Bishop,  this 
ain't  no  business  o'  yore'n!" 

"I'll  make  it  my  business,"  said  Alan.  "How 
much  is  your  fine?  You  ought  to  have  sent  me 
word." 

"Sent  you  hell,  Alan  Bishop,"  growled  the  prisoner. 
"  When  I  send  you  word  to  he'p  me  out  of  a  scrape  that 
whiskey  got  me  into  I'll  do  it  after  I've  decently  cut 
my  throat.  I  say! — when  you've  plead  with  me  like 
you  have  to  quit  the  durn  stuff  1" 

At  this  point  of  the  conversation  Jeff  Dukes,  a  man 
of  medium  size,  dressed  in  dark-blue  uniform,  with  a 
nickel-plated  badge  shaped  like  a  shield  and  bearing 
the  words  "Marshal  No.  2,"  came  directly  towards 
them  from  a  stone-cutter's  shop  near  by. 

"Look  heer,  Bishop,"  he  said,  dictatorially,  "whar'd 
you  git  the  right  to  talk  to  that  man?" 

95 


Abner   Daniel 

Alan  looked  surprised.  "Am  I  breaking  the  law, 
too?" 

"  You  are,  ef  you  hain't  got  a  permit  from  the  mayor 
in  yore  pocket." 

"Well,  I  have  no  permit,"  replied  Alan,  with  a  good- 
natured  smile.  "  Have  you  got  another  ball  an'  chain 
handy?" 

The  officer  frowned  off  his  inclination  to  treat  the 
matter  as  a  jest.  "  You  ort  to  have  more  sense  than 
that,"  he  said,  crustily.  "Pole's  put  out  heer  to  work 
his  time  out,  an'  ef  everybody  in  town  is  allowed  to 
laugh  an'  joke  with  him  he'd  crack  about  as  many 
rocks  as  you  or  me." 

"  You  are  a  durn  liar,  Jeff  Dukes,"  said  Pole,  angrily. 
"You  are  a-makin'  that  up  to  humiliate  me  furder. 
You  know  no  law  like  that  never  was  inforced.  Ef 
I  ever  git  you  out  in  Pea  Vine  Destrict  I'll  knock  a 
dent  in  that  egg-shaped  head  o'  yor'n,  an'  make  them 
eyes  look  two  ways  fer  Sunday.  You  know  a  gentle 
man  like  Alan  Bishop  wouldn't  notice  you  under  or 
dinary  circumstances,  an'  so  you  trump  up  that  excuse 
to  git  his  attention." 

The  two  men  glared  at  each  other,  but  Pole  seemed 
to  get  the  best  of  that  sort  of  combat,  for  the  officer 
only  growled. 

"  You  can  insult  a  man  when  you  are  under  arrest," 
he  said,  "beca'se  you  know  I  am  under  bond  to  keep 
the  peace.  But  I'm  not  afeerd  of  you." 

"They  tell  me  you  are  afeerd  o'  sperits,  though,"  re 
torted  the  prisoner.  "  They  tell  me  a  little  nigger  boy 
that  was  shot  when  a  passle  o'  skunks  went  to  whip 
his  daddy  fer  vagrancy  stands  at  the  foot  o'  yore  bed 
ever'  night.  Oh,  I  know  what  I'm  a-talkin'  about!" 

"Yes,  you  know  a  lots,"  said  the  man,  sullenly,  as 
his  eyes  fell. 

To  avoid  encouraging  the  disputants  further,  Alan 

96 


Abner   Daniel 

walked  suddenly  away.  The  marshal  took  willing 
advantage  of  the  opportunity  and  followed  him. 

"I  could  make  a  case  agin  you,"  he  said,  catching 
up, "  but  I  know  you  didn't  mean  to  violate  the  ordi 
nance." 

"No,  of  course  I  didn't,"  said  Alan;  "but  I  want  to 
know  if  that  fellow  could  be  released  if  I  paid  his  fine." 

"You  are  not  fool  enough  to  do  it,  are  you?" 

"That's  what  I  am." 

"Have  you  got  the  money  in  yore  pocket?"  The 
officer  was  laughing,  as  if  at  a  good  joke. 

"I  have." 

"Well  " — the  marshal  laughed  again  as  he  swung 
his  short  club  round  by  a  string  that  fastened  it  to  his 
wrist — "well,  you  come  with  me,  an'  I'll  show  you  a 
man  that  wants  thirty  dollars  wuss  than  any  man 
I  know  of.  I  don't  believe  Bill  Barrett  has  slept  a 
wink  sence  this  thing  happened.  He'll  be  tickled  to 
death  to  git  off  so  easy.  The  town  has  devilled  the 
life  out  of  him.  He  don't  go  by  whar  Pole's  at  work 
— I  mean,  whar  he  ain't  at  work — fer  Pole  yells  at  'im 
whenever  he  sees  'im." 

That  night  when  Alan  reached  home  he  sent  a  ser 
vant  over  to  tell  Mrs.  Baker  that  Pole  was  all  right 
and  that  he'd  be  home  soon.  He  had  eaten  his  supper 
and  had  gone  up-stairs  to  go  to  bed  when  he  heard 
his  name  called  outside.  Going  to  a  window  and 
looking  out,  he  recognized  Pole  Baker  standing  at 
the  gate  in  the  clear  moonlight. 

"Alan,"  he  said,  softly,  "come  down  heer  a  minute. 
I  want  to  see  you." 

Alan  went  down  and  joined  him.  For  a  moment 
Pole  stood  leaning  against  the  fence,  his  eyes  hidden 
by  his  broad-brimmed  slouch  hat. 

"Did  you  want  to  see  me,  Pole?"  Alan  asked. 

"Yes,  I  did,"  the  fellow  swallowed.  He  made  a 
7  97 


Abner  Daniel 

motion  as  if  to  reach  out  his  hand,  but  refrained.   Then 
he  looked  straight  into  Alan's  face. 

"I  couldn't  go  to  sleep  till  I'd  said  some'n'  to  you/' 
he  began,  with  another  gulp.  "I  laid  down  an'  made 
a  try  at  it,  but  it  wasn't  no  go.  I've  got  to  say  it.  I'm 
heer  to  swear  that  ef  God,  or  some'n'  else,  don't  show 
me  a  way  to  pay  you  back  fer  what  you  done  to-day, 
I'll  never  draw  a  satisfied  breath.  Alan  Bishop,  yo're 
a  man,  God  damn  it  1  a  man  from  yore  outside  skin  to 
the  marrow  o'  yore  bones,  an'  ef  I  don't  find  some  way 
to  prove  what  I  think  about  you,  I'll  jest  burn  up  I 
I  got  into  that  trouble  as  thoughtless  as  I'd  play  a 
prank  with  my  baby,  an'  then  they  all  come  down  on 
me  an'  begun  to  try  to  drive  me  like  a  hog  out'n  a  field 
with  rocks  an'  sticks,  an'  the  very  Old  Harry  riz  in 
me  an'  defied  'em.  I  reckon  thar  wasn't  anything 
Bill  could  do  but  carry  out  the  law,  an'  I  knowed  it, 
but  I  wasn't  ready  to  admit  it.  Then  you  come  along 
an'  rendered  a  verdict  in  my  favor  when  you  needed 
the  money  you  did  it  with.  Alan,  ef  I  don't  show  my 
appreciation,  it  '11  be  beca'se  I  don't  live  long  enough. 
You  never  axed  me  but  one  thing,  an'  that  was  to 
quit  drinkin'  whiskey.  I'm  goin'  to  make  a  try  at  it, 
not  beca'se  I  think  that  '11  pay  you  back,  but  beca'se 
with  a  sober  head  I  kin  be  a  better  friend  to  you  ef  the 
chance  ever  comes  my  way." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  Pole,"  replied  Alan, 
greatly  moved  by  the  fellow's  earnestness.  "  I  believe 
you  can  do  it.  Then  your  wife  and  children — " 

"Damn  my  wife  an'  children,"  snorted  Pole.  "It's 
you  I'm  a-goin'  to  work  fer — you,  I  say!" 

He  suddenly  turned  through  the  open  gate  and 
strode  homeward  across  the  fields.  Alan  stood  looking 
after  him  till  his  tall  form  was  lost  in  the  hazy  moon 
light,  and  then  he  went  up  to  his  bed. 

Pole  entered  the  open  door  of  his  cabin  and  began 


Abner   Daniel 

to  undress  as  he  sat  on  the  side  of  his  crude  bedstead, 
made  of  unbarked  poles  fastened  to  the  bare  logs  in 
one  corner  of  the  room.  His  wife  and  children  slept  on 
two  beds  on  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

"Did  you  see  'im,  Pole?"  piped  up  Mrs.  Baker  from 
the  darkness. 

"Yes,  I  seed  'im.  Sally,  say,  whar's  that  bottle  o' 
whiskey  I  had  the  last  time  I  was  at  home?" 

There  was  an  ominous  silence.  Out  of  it  rose  the 
soft  breathing  of  the  children.  Then  the  woman 
sighed.  "Pole,  shorely  you  ain't  a-goin'  to  begin 
agin?" 

"No,  I  want  to  bu'st  it  into  smithereens.  I  don't 
want  it  about — I  don't  want  to  know  thar's  a  drap  in 
the  house.  I've  swore  off,  an'  this  time  she  sticks. 
Gi'  me  that  bottle." 

Another  silence.  Suddenly  the  woman  spoke. 
"Pole,  you've  swore  off  as  many  times  as  a  dog  has 
fleas.  Often  when  I  feel  bad  an'  sick  when  you  are 
off,  a  drap  o'  whiskey  makes  me  feel  better.  I  don't 
want  you  to  destroy  the  last  bit  in  the  house  jest  be- 
ca'se  you've  tuck  this  turn,  that  may  wear  off  before 
daylight.  The  last  time  you  emptied  that  keg  on 
the  ground  an'  swore  off  you  got  on  a  spree  an'  helt 
the  baby  over  the  well  an'  threatened  to  drap  'er  in  ef 
I  didn't  find  a  bottle,  an'  you'd  'a'  done  it,  too." 

Pole  laughed  softly.  "  I  reckon  yo're  right,  old  gal," 
he  said.  "  Besides,  ef  I  can't — ef  I  ain't  man  enough 
to  let  up  with  a  bottle  in  the  house  I  won't  do  it  with 
out.  But  the  sight  or  smell  of  it  is  hell  itse'f  to  a 
lover  of  the  truck.  Ef  I  was  to  tell  you  what  a  little 
thing  started  me  on  this  last  spree  you'd  laugh.  I 
went  to  git  a  shave  in  a  barber  shop,  an'  when  the 
barber  finished  he  soaked  my  face  in  bay-rum  an'  it 
got  in  my  mustache.  I  kept  smellin'  it  all  mornin'  an' 
tried  to  wipe  it  off,  but  she  wouldn't  wipe.  All  the 

99 


Abner   Daniel 

time  I  kept  walkin'  up  an'  down  in  front  o'  Luke  Sell- 
more's  bar.  Finally  I  said  to  myself :  '  Well,  ef  you 
have  to  have  a  bar-room  stuck  under  yore  nose  all  day 
like  a  wet  sponge,  old  man,  you  mought  as  well  have 
one  whar  it  '11  taste  better,  an'  I  slid  up  to  the  counter." 

The  woman  sighed  audibly,  but  she  made  no  reply. 

"Is  Billy  awake?"  Pole  suddenly  asked. 

"No,  you  know  he  ain't,"  said  Mrs.  Baker. 

"Well,  I  want  to  take  'im  in  my  bed."  Pole  stood 
out  on  the  floor  in  the  sheet  of  moonlight  that  fell 
through  the  open  door. 

" I  wouldn't,  Pole,"  said  the  woman.  " The  pore  little 
feller's  been  toddlin'  about  after  the  others,  draggin' 
bresh  to  the  heap  tell  he's  tired.  He  drapped  to  sleep 
at  the  table  with  a  piece  o'  bread  in  his  mouth." 

"I  won't  wake  'im,  God  bless  his  little  heart,"  an 
swered  Pole,  and  he  reached  down  and  took  the  limp 
child  in  his  arms  and  pressed  him  against  the  side  of 
his  face.  He  carried  him  tenderly  across  the  room  and 
laid  down  with  him.  His  wife  heard  him  uttering 
endearing  things  to  the  unconscious  child  until  she 
fell  asleep. 


XIII 

was  the  second  Sunday  in  July,  and 
a  bright,  clear  day.  In  that  mountain- 
'ous  region  the  early  mornings  of  dry 
summer  days  are  delightfully  cool  and 
\  balmy.  Abner  Daniel  was  in  his  room 
I  making  preparations  to  go  to  meeting 
at  Rock  Crest  Church.  He  had  put  on  one  of  his 
best  white  shirts,  black  silk  necktie,  doeskin  trou 
sers,  flowered  waistcoat,  and  long  frock-coat,  and  was 
proceeding  to  black  his  shoes.  Into  an  old  pie-pan 
he  raked  from  the  back  of  the  fireplace  a  quantity 
of  soot  and  added  to  it  a  little  water  and  a  spoonful 
of  sorghum  molasses  from  a  jug  under  his  bed,  stir 
ring  the  mixture  into  a  paste.  This  he  applied  to 
his  shoes  with  a  blacking-brush,  rubbing  vigorously 
until  quite  a  decent  gloss  appeared.  It  was  a  thing 
poverty  had  taught  him  just  after  the  war,  and  to 
which  he  still  resorted  when  he  forgot  to  buy  black 
ing. 

On  his  way  to  church,  as  he  was  crossing  a  broom- 
sedge  field  and  steering  for  the  wood  ahead  of  him, 
through  which  a  path  made  a  short  cut  to  Rock  Crest 
Church,  he  overtook  Pole  Baker  swinging  along  in 
his  shirt-sleeves  and  big  hat. 

"Well,  I'll  be  bungfuzzled,"  Abner  exclaimed,  "ef 
you  hain't  got  on  a  clean  shirt!  Church?" 

"Yes,  I  'lowed  I  would,  Uncle  Ab.  I  couldn't  stay 
away.  I  told  Sally  it  ud  be  the  biggest  fun  on  earth. 

101 


Abner   Daniel 

She's  a-comin'  on  as  soon  as  she  gits  the  childern 
ready.  She's  excited,  too,  an'  wants  to  see  how  it  '11 
come  out.  She's  as  big  a  believer  in  you  as  I  am, 
mighty  nigh,  an'  she  'lowed,  she  did,  that  she'd  bet 
you'd  take  hair  an'  hide  off'n  that  gang  'fore  they  got 
good  started/' 

Abner  raised  his  shaggy  eyebrows.  If  this  was  one 
of  Pole's  jokes  it  failed  in  the  directness  that  usually 
characterized  the  jests  of  the  ex-moonshiner. 

"I  wonder  what  yo're  a-drivin'  at,  you  blamed  fool," 
he  said,  smiling  in  a  puzzled  fashion. 

Pole  was  walking  in  front,  and  suddenly  wheeled 
about.  He  took  off  his  hat,  and,  wiping  the  perspira 
tion  from  his  high  brow  with  his  forefinger,  he  crack 
ed  it  into  the  broom-sedge  like  a  whip. 

"Looky'  heer,  Uncle  Ab,"  he  laughed,  "what  you 
givin'  me?" 

"  I  was  jest  tryin'  to  find  out  what  you  was  a-givin' 
me,"  retorted  the  rural  philosopher,  a  dry  note  of  rising 
curiosity  dominating  his  voice. 

They  had  reached  a  rail  fence  which  separated  the 
field  from  the  wood,  and  they  climbed  over  it  and  stood 
in  the  shade  of  the  trees.  Pole  stared  at  the  old  man 
incredulously.  "By  hunkley,  Uncle  Ab,  you  don't 
mean  to  tell  me  you  don't  know  what  that  passle  o' 
hill-Billies  is  a-goin'  to  do  with  you  this  mornin'  at 
meetin'?" 

Abner  smiled  mechanically.  "I  can't  say  I  do, 
Pole.  I'm  at  the  fust  of  it,  if  thar  is  to  be  any — " 

Pole  slapped  his  thigh  and  gave  vent  to  a  loud 
guffaw  that  rang  through  the  trees  and  was  echoed 
back  from  a  hidden  hill-side. 

"  Well,  what  they  are  a-goin'  to  do  with  you  '11  be  a 
God's  plenty.  They  are  a-goin'  to  walk  yore  log, 
ur  make  you  do  it  on  all  fours  so  they  kin  see  you. 
You've  made  it  hot  fer  them  an'  they  are  a-goin'  to 

102 


Abner   Daniel 

turn  t'other  cheek  an'  git  a  swipe  at  you.  They  are 
a-goin'  to  show  you  whar  you  come  in — ur,  ruther, 
whar  you  go  out." 

Abner's  face  was  a  study  in  seriousness.  "You 
don't  say!"  he  muttered.  "I  did  notice  that  brother 
Dole  kinder  give  our  house  a  wide  berth  last  night.  I 
reckon  he  sorter  hated  to  eat  at  the  same  table  with  a 
feller  he  was  goin'  to  hit  at  to-day.  Yes,  Dole  is  at 
the  bottom  of  it.  I  know  in  reason  I  pushed  'im  too 
fur  the  last  time  he  was  heer,  but  when  he  rears  back 
an'  coughs  up  sanctimony  like  he  was  literally  too 
full  of  it  fer  comfort,  I  jest  cayn't  hold  in.  Seems  to 
me  I  kin  jest  close  my  eyes  an'  hit  some  spot  in  'im 
that  makes  'im  wiggle  like  a  tadpole  skeered  in  shallow 
water.  But  maybe  I  mought  'a'  got  a  better  mark  to 
fire  at ;  fer  this  11  raise  no  end  of  a  rumpus,  an'  they 
may  try  to  make  me  take  back  water,  but  I  never  did 
crawfish.  I  couldn't  do  that,  Pole.  No  siree,  I — I 
can't  crawfish." 

Abner  was  a  special  object  of  regard  as  he  and  Pole 
emerged  from  the  wood  into  the  opening  in  front  of 
the  little  unpainted  meeting-house,  where  the  men 
stood  about  among  the  buggies  and  horses,  whittling, 
gossiping,  and  looking  strange  and  fresh-washed  in 
their  clean  clothes.  But  it  was  noticeable  that  they 
did  not  gather  around  him  as  had  been  their  habit. 
His  standing  in  that  religious  community  was  at 
stake;  his  continued  popularity  depended  on  the  re 
sult  of  that  day's  investigation.  Pole  could  afford 
to  stand  by  him,  and  he  did.  They  sat  down  on  a  log 
near  the  church  door  and  remained  silent  till  the  cast- 
iron  bell  in  the  little  belfry,  which  resembled  a  dog- 
kennel,  was  rattled  vigorously  as  an  announcement 
that  the  service  was  about  to  begin.  They  all  scurried 
in  like  sheep.  Abner  went  in  last,  with  slow  dignity 
and  deliberation,  leaving  Pole  in  a  seat  near  the  door. 

103 


Abner   Daniel 

He  went  up  the  narrow  aisle  to  his  accustomed  seat 
near  the  long -wood  stove.  Many  eyes  were  on  his 
profile  and  the  back  of  his  neck.  Dole  was  seated  in 
the  arm-chair  behind  the  preacher's  stand,  but  some 
how  he  failed  to  look  at  Abner  as  he  entered,  or  even 
after  he  had  taken  his  seat.  He  seemed  busy  making 
notes  from  the  big  Bible  which  lay  across  his  lap. 
Abner  saw  Bishop  and  his  wife  come  in  and  sit  down, 
and  knew  from  the  glances  they  gave  him  that  they 
had  heard  the  news.  Mrs.  Bishop  looked  keenly  dis 
tressed,  but  Bishop  seemed  to  regard  the  matter  only 
as  a  small,  buzzing  incident  in  his  own  troubled 
career.  Besides,  Abner  was  no  blood  relative  of  his, 
and  Bishop  had  enough  to  occupy  him  in  looking  after 
the  material  interests  of  his  own  family  without  both 
ering  about  the  spiritual  welfare  of  a  connection  by 
marriage. 

Dole  stood  up  and  announced  a  hymn,  and  read  it 
from  beginning  to  end  in  a  mellow,  sonorous  voice. 
The  congregation,  all  eying  Abner,  rose  and  sang  it 
energetically;  even  Abner,  who  sang  a  fair  bass  of 
the  rasping,  guttural  variety,  popular  in  the  moun 
tains,  found  himself  joining  in,  quite  unconcerned  as 
to  his  future  right  to  do  so.  After  this,  Dole  led  in 
prayer,  standing  with  both  hands  resting  on  the  crude, 
unpainted  stand,  the  sole  ornament  of  which  was  a 
pitcher  of  water,  a  tumbler,  and  a  glass  lamp  with  a 
green  paper  shade  on  it.  Abner  remarked  afterwards 
that  Dole,  in  this  prayer,  used  the  Lord  as  a  cat's-paw 
to  hit  at  him.  Dole  'told  the  Lord  a  few  things  that  he 
had  never  had  the  courage  to  tell  Daniel.  Abner  was 
a  black  sheep  in  a  flock  earnestly  striving  to  keep 
itself  white — a  thing  in  human  shape  that  soiled  that 
with  which  it  came  in  contact.  He  had  the  subtle 
tongue  of  the  serpent  that  blasted  the  happiness  of 
the  primeval  pair  in  the  Garden  of  Eden.  Under 

104 


Abner   Daniel 

the  cloak  of  wit  and  wisdom  he  was  continually  drop 
ping  poison  into  the  beverages  of  earnest  folk  who 
had  not  the  religious  courage  to  close  their  ears.  As 
a  member  of  a  consecrated  body  of  souls,  it  was  the 
opinion  of  many  that  Abner  was  out  of  place,  but  that 
was  to  be  decided  after  careful  investigation  in  the 
Lord's  presence  and  after  ample  testimony  pro  and 
con.  had  been  submitted.  Any  one  wishing  to  show 
that  the  offending  member  had  a  right  to  remain  in 
good  standing  would  be  gladly  listened  to,  even  prayer 
fully.  On  the  other  hand,  such  members  as  had  had 
their  religious  sensibilities  wounded  should  feel  that 
a  most  sacred  duty  rested  on  them  to  speak  their  minds. 
All  this  Dole  said  he  trusted  the  Lord  would  sanction 
and  bless  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  the 
Saviour  and  Director  of  all  men. 

Dole  then  started  another  hymn,  and  when  it  had 
been  sung  he  announced  that  no  sermon  would  be 
preached  that  day,  as  the  important  business  in  hand 
would  consume  all  available  time  before  the  dinner- 
hour.  Then  he  courageously  faced  Abner.  His  coun 
tenance  was  pale  and  determined,  his  tone  perfunctory 
and  sharp  as  a  knife. 

"I  reckon,  brother  Daniel,"  he  said,  "that  you  have 
a  idee  who  I've  been  talkin'  about?" 

Abner  was  slightly  pale,  but  calm  and  self-possessed. 
The  light  of  merriment,  always  kindled  by  contact  with 
Dole,  danced  in  his  eyes.  "  I  kinder  'lowed  I  was  the 
one,"  he  said,  slowly,  "an'  I'm  sorter  curis  to  see 
who'll  speak  an'  what  they'll  say.  I'll  tell  you  now 
I  ain't  a-goin'  to  do  myse'f  jestice.  I  'ain't  been  to  a 
debatin'  club  sence  I  was  a  boy,  but  I'll  do  my  best." 

Dole  stroked  his  beard  and  consulted  a  scrap  of 
paper  in  the  palm  of  his  hand.  "Brother  Throg- 
martin,"  he  called  out,  suddenly,  and  a  short,  fat  man 
on  a  bench  behind  Abner  rose  and  cleared  his  throat. 


Abner   Daniel 

"Now,  brother  Throgmartin,"  went  on  the  preacher, 
"jest  tell  some  o'  the  things  you've  heerd  brother 
Daniel  say  that  struck  you  as  bein'  undoctrinal  an' 
unbecomin'  a  member  of  this  body." 

"Well,  sir,"  Throgmartin  began,  in  a  thin,  high 
voice  that  cut  the  profound  silence  in  the  room  like 
a  rusty  blade,  "I  don't  raily,  in  my  heart  o'  hearts, 
believe  that  Ab — brother  Daniel — has  the  right  in 
terpretation  of  Scriptur'.  I  remember,  after  you  preach 
ed  last  summer  about  the  sacred  teachin'  in  regard 
to  future  punishment,  that  Ab — brother  Daniel — an' 
me  was  walkin'  home  together.  Ever'  now  an'  then 
he'd  stop  in  the  road  an'  laugh  right  out  sudden-like 
over  what  you'd  contended." 

"Oh,  he  did,  did  he?"  Dole's  face  hardened.  He 
couldn't  doubt  that  part  of  the  testimony,  for  it  was 
distinctly  Abner's  method. 

"Yes,  sir,"  responded  Throgmartin,  sternly,  "he 
'lowed  what  you'd  said  was  as  funny  to  him  as  a  circus 
clown's  talk,  an'  that  it  was  all  he  could  do  to  hold  in. 
He  'lowed  ef  you  was  to  git  up  in  a  Darley  church 
with  sech  talk  as  that  they'd  make  you  preach  to  nig 
gers.  He  'lowed  he  didn't  believe  hell  was  any  hot 
place  nohow,  an'  that  he  never  could  be  made  to  believe 
that  the  Lord  ud  create  folks  an'  then  barbecue  'em 
alive  through  all  eternity.  He  said  it  sorter  turned 
his  stomach  to  see  jest  a  little  lamb  roasted  at  a  big 
political  gatherin',  an'  that  no  God  he  believed  in  would 
institute  sech  long  torture  as  you  spoke  about  when 
you  brought  up  the  mustard-seed  p'int." 

"He  deliberately  gives  the  lie  to  Holy  Scripture, 
then,"  said  Dole,  almost  beside  himself  with  rage. 
"What  else  did  he  say  of  a  blasphemous  nature?" 

"Oh,  I  hardly  know,"  hesitated  the  witness,  his 
brow  wrinkled  thoughtfully. 

"Well,"  snarled  Dole,  "you  hain't  told  half  you  said 
106 


Abner   Daniel 

to  me  this  mornin'  on  the  way  to  meetin'.  What  was 
his  remark  about  the  stars  havin'  people  on  'em  ever' 
bit  an'  grain  as  worthy  o'  salvation  as  us  all?" 

"I  disremember  his  exact  words.  Perhaps  Ab — 
brother  Daniel  —  will  refresh  my  memory."  Throg- 
martin  was  gazing  quite  respectfully  at  the  offender. 
"It  was  at  Billy  Malone's  log-rollin',  you  know,  Ab; 
me  'n'  you  'd  eat  a  snack  together,  an'  you  said  the 
big  poplar  had  strained  yore  side  an'  wanted  to  git  it 
rubbed." 

Abner  looked  straight  at  Dole.  The  corners  of  his 
big,  honest  mouth  were  twitching  defiantly. 

"I  said,  I  think,"  he  answered,  "that  no  matter 
what  some  folks  mought  believe  about  the  starry 
heavens,  no  man  ever  diskivered  a  big  world  with  a 
tail  to  it  through  a  spy-glass  without  bein'  convinced 
that  thar  was  other  globes  in  the  business  besides 
jest  this  un." 

Dole  drew  himself  up  straight  and  gazed  broadly 
over  his  congregation.  He  felt  that  in  the  estimation 
of  unimaginative,  prosaic  people  like  his  flock  Abner's 
defence  would  certainly  fall. 

"Kin  I  ax,"  he  asked,  sternly,  "how  you  happen 
to  think  like  you  do?" 

Abner  grasped  the  back  of  the  bench  in  front  of  him 
and  pulled  himself  up,  only  to  sink  back  hesitatingly 
into  his  seat.  "Would  it  be  out  o'  order  fer  me  to 
stand?"  he  questioned. 

Dole  spread  a  hard,  triumphant  smile  over  the  con 
gregation.  "  Not  at  all,  if  it  will  help  you  to  give  a 
sensible  answer  to  my  question." 

"Oh,  I  kin  talk  settin',"  retorted  the  man  on  trial. 
"  I  jest  didn't  know  what  was  right  an'  proper,  an' 
I  'lowed  I  could  hit  that  spit-box  better  standin'  than 
I  kin  over  brother  Tarver's  legs." 

The  man  referred  to  quickly  slid  along  the  bench, 

107 


Abner    Daniel 

giving  Abner  his  place  near  the  aisle,  and  Abner  calmly 
emptied  his  mouth  in  the  wooden  box  filled  with  saw 
dust  and  wiped  his  lips. 

"I  hardly  know  why  I  think  like  I  do  about  other 
worlds/'  he  answered,  slowly,  "  unless  it's  beca'se  I've 
always  had  the  notion  that  the  universe  is  sech  a  power 
ful,  whoppin'  big  thing.  Most  folks  believe  that  the 
spot  they  inhabit  is  about  all  thar  is  to  creation,  any 
way.  That's  human  natur'.  About  the  biggest  job 
I  ever  tackled  was  to  drive  a  hungry  cow  from  bad 
grass  into  a  good  patch.  She  wants  to  stay  thar  an' 
eat,  an'  that's  about  the  way  it  is  with  folks.  They 
are  short  -  sighted.  It  makes  most  of  'em  mad  to  tell 
'em  they  kin  better  the'r  condition.  I've  always  be 
lieved  that's  the  reason  they  make  the  bad  place  out 
so  bad;  they've  made  up  the'r  minds  to  live  thar,  an' 
they  ain't  a-goin'  to  misrepresent  it.  They  are  out  o' 
fire-wood  in  this  life  an'  want  to  have  a  good  sweat  in 
the  next." 


XIV 

|T  looked  as  if  Dole  thought  he  could 
get  down  to  the  matter  better  out  of 
the  pulpit,  so  he  descended  the  steps 
'on  the  side  near  Abner,  and  stood  on 
jthe  floor  inside  the  altar  railing. 

"We  didn't  assemble  heer  to  argue 
with  brother  Daniel,"  he  informed  the  congregation, 
"fer  that's  evidently  jest  what  he'd  like.  It  would 
be  raily  kind  of  you  all  to  consider  what  he's  jest 
said  as  the  product  of  a  weak  brain  ruther  'n  a  bad 
heart.  Brother  Throgmartin,  have  you  any  other 
charges  to  prefer  agin  brother  Daniel?"  Dole  looked 
as  if  he  had  already  been  apprised  of  the  extent  of  the 
witness's  testimony. 

"  That's  all  I  keer  to  say,"  replied  the  man  address 
ed,  and  he  coughed. 

Dole  consulted  the  scrap  of  paper  in  his  hand,  and 
while  he  did  so  Abner  stole  a  glance  at  Bishop  and 
his  wife.  Mrs.  Bishop  had  her  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes  as  if  she  were  crying,  and  her  husband's  face  wore 
the  impatient  look  of  a  man  detained  by  trivialities. 

"Brother  Daniel,"  the  preacher  began,  suddenly, 
"charges  has  been  preferred  agin  you  on  the  score 
that  you  are  a  profane  man.  What  have  you  got  to 
say  on  that  line?" 

Abner  bent  his  head  and  spat  down  into  the  hopper- 
shaped  box  in  the  aisle. 

"  I  hardly  know,  brother  Dole/'  he  said.     "  It's  all 

109 


Abner  Daniel 

owin'  to  what  profanity  is  an'  what  it  hain't.  I  don't 
know  that  I  ever  used  but  one  word  out  o'  the  general 
run,  an'  that  is  '  dern.'  I  don't  believe  thar's  any  more 
harm  in  sayin'  'dern'  than  'scat/  ur  gruntin'  when 
thar's  no  absolute  call  fer  it.  I  don't  know  as  any 
body  knows  what  it  means.  I  don't.  I've  axed  a  num 
ber  o'  times,  but  nobody  could  tell  me,  so  I  knowed  it 
wasn't  patented  anyway.  Fer  a  long  time  I  'lowed 
nobody  used  it  but  me.  I  met  a  feller  from  up  in 
Yankeedom  that  said  'darn/  an'  another  from  out 
West  that  said  'dang/  so  I  reckon  they  are  all  three  in 
a  bunch." 

At  this  juncture  some  one  in  the  rear  of  the  church 
laughed  out,  and  the  entire  congregation  turned  its 
head.  It  was  Pole  Baker.  He  was  red  in  the  face, 
had  his  big  hand  pressed  tightly  over  his  mouth,  and 
was  bent  over  the  bench  towards  the  open  doorway. 
Abner's  eyes  sparkled  with  appreciative  merriment  as 
he  saw  him,  but  he  did  not  permit  himself  to  smile. 
Dole  could  not  hide  his  irritation,  for  Pole's  unalloyed 
enjoyment  had  communicated  itself  to  some  of  the 
less  rigid  members,  and  he  felt  that  the  reply  which 
was  stinging  his  tongue  would  fall  less  forcefully  than 
if  the  incident  hadn't  happened. 

He  held  up  his  hand  to  invoke  silence  and  respect. 
"  I  believe  such  a  word,  to  say  the  least,  is  unbecoming 
in  a  Christian,  and  I  think  the  membership  will  back 
me  up  in  it." 

"  I  don't  look  at  it  that  away,"  argued  Abner.  "  I'd 
be  above  takin'  the  Lord's  name  in  vain,  but  a  little 
word  that  nobody  cayn't  find  no  fault  with  or  tell  its 
origin  shorely  is  different." 

"Well,  that  '11  be  a  matter  to  decide  by  vote." 

Dole  paused  a  moment  and  then  introduced  another 
topic. 

"A  report  has  gone  round  among  the  members 
no 


Abner   Daniel 

that  you  said  that  red-handed  murderer  who  killed  a 
man  over  in  Fannin'  an'  was  hung,  an'  passed  on 
without  a  single  prayer  fer  pardon  to  his  Maker — that 
he'd  stand  a  chance  fer  redemption.  In  all  my  ex 
perience  I've  never  heerd  sech  a  dangerous  doctrin' 
as  that,  brother  Daniel — never,  as  I  myself  hope  to  be 
redeemed." 

"  I  said  he'd  have  a  chance — I  thought,"  said  Abner. 
"  I  reckon  I  must  'a'  got  that  idee  from  what  Jesus  said 
to  the  thief  on  the  cross.  You  see,  brother  Dole,  I 
believe  the  Almighty  gives  us  all  equal  chances,  an' 
I  don't  believe  that  feller  in  Fannin'  had  as  good  a 
opportunity  to  git  his  heart  saftened  as  the  feller  did 
that  was  dyin'  right  alongside  o'  the  great  Redeemer 
o'  the  world.  Nobody  spoke  a  kind  word  to  the  Fannin' 
man;  on  the  contrary,  they  was  hootin'  an'  spittin' 
at  'im  night  an'  day,  an'  they  say  the  man  he  killed 
had  pestered  'im  all  his  life.  Scriptur'  says  we  ort  to 
forgive  a  man  seventy  times  seven,  an'  that  is  four 
hundred  an'  ninety.  Why  they  didn't  make  it  even 
five  hundred  I  never  could  tell.  An'  yet  you-uns  try 
to  make  folks  believe  the  Lord  that  made  us,  frail  as 
we  are  an'  prone  to  sin,  won't  forgive  us  once  ef  we 
happen  to  die  sudden.  Shucks!  that  doctrine  won't 
hold  water;  it's  hide-bound  an'  won't  stretch  one  bit. 
It  seems  to  me  that  the  trouble  with  yore — " 

"We  haven't  time  to  listen  to  a  speech  on  the  sub 
ject,"  interrupted  the  preacher,  whose  anger  was  in 
flamed  by  hearing  Pole  Baker  sniggering.  "If  thar 
is  anybody  else  that  has  anything  to  say  we'd  be  glad 
to  hear  from  'em." 

Then  Mrs.  Bishop  rose,  wiping  her  eyes.  She  was 
pale  and  deeply  agitated.  "I  jest  want  to  ax  you  all 
to  be  lenient  with  my  pore  brother,"  she  began,  her 
thin  voice  cracking  under  its  strain.  "I've  predicted 
that  he'd  bring  disrepute  down  on  us  with  his  ready 

III 


Abner   Daniel 

tongue  an'  odd  notions.  I've  tried  an'  tried  to  stop 
'im,  but  it  didn't  do  a  bit  o'  good." 

"It's  very  good  of  you  to  speak  in  his  behalf/'  said 
Dole,  as  she  sank  back  into  her  seat.  "I'm  sure  the 
membership  will  do  its  duty,  sister  Bishop." 

Then  a  little,  meanly  clad  man  behind  Daniel  stood 
up.  It  was  Jasper  Marmaduke,  a  ne'er-do-well  farmer, 
who  had  a  large  family,  few  friends,  and  no  earthly 
possessions.  He  was  greatly  excited,  and  as  white  as 
if  he  were  on  trial  for  his  life. 

"I  ain't  no  member,"  he  began.  "I  know  I  ort  to 
be,  but  I  hain't.  I  don't  know  whether  a  outsider's  got 
a  right  to  chip  into  this  or  not,  but  it  seems  to  me  I'll 
bu'st  wide  open  ef  I  don't  git  up  heer  an'  say  as  loud 
as  I  kin  holler  that  Abner  Daniel's  the  best  man  I  ever 
seed,  knowed,  ur  heerd  tell  of."  Tears  were  on  the 
man's  face  and  his  voice  shook  with  emotion.  "He's 
fetched  food  an'  medicine  over  to  my  folks  an'  run  after 
a  doctor  when  all  the  rest  o'  humanity  had  turned 
the'r  backs  on  us.  He  made  me  promise  not  to  cheep 
it  to  a  soul,  but  I'm  a-goin'  to  tell  it — tell  it,  ef  he  never 
speaks  to  me  agin.  I  ain't  no  godly  man,  an'  this 
thing  's  makin'  me  so  mad  I  feel  like  thro  win'  rocks!" 
And  with  a  sob  bursting  from  him,  Marmaduke  strode 
from  the  church  with  a  loud  clatter  of  his  untied  shoes. 

"Good!  Good  man!"  spoke  up  Pole  Baker,  impul 
sively,  unconscious  of  where  he  was.  "Jas',  yo're 
the  right  stuff."  And  then,  in  the  dead  silence  that 
followed  his  ejaculation,  Pole  realized  what  he  had 
said  and  lowered  his  head  in  red  embarrassment,  for 
Dole's  fierce  eyes  were  bearing  down  on  him.  The 
preacher's  pent-up  wrath  burst ;  he  was  really  more 
infuriated  at  the  man  who  had  just  left  the  church, 
but  he  had  to  make  an  example  of  some  one,  and  Pole 
had  laid  himself  open  to  attack. 

"This  is  no  place  fer  rowdies,"  he  snarled.     "That 

112 


Abner   Daniel 

outlaw  back  thar  who  has  been  continually  disturbing 
these  proceedings  ort  to  be  jailed.  He's  undertakin' 
to  bring  his  violations  of  decency  into  the  very  house 
of  God." 

A  vast  surprise  clutched  the  congregation,  who, 
knowing  Pole,  scented  trouble.  And  Pole  did  not 
disappoint  them.  With  his  flabby  hat  in  his  brawny 
grasp,  Pole  stood  up,  but  his  wife,  who  sat  on  the 
women's  side  across  the  aisle  from  him  with  her  three 
eldest  children,  stepped  to  him  and  drew  him  back  in 
his  seat,  sitting  by  him  and  whispering  imploringly. 
Dole  stared  fiercely  for  a  moment,  and  then,  seeing  that 
the  disturbance  was  over,  he  shrugged  his  broad  shoul 
ders  and  applied  himself  to  the  business  in  hand. 

"  Is  thar  anybody  else  pro  or  con.  that  ud  like  to  be 
heerd?" 

It  was  the  widow  Pellham,  sitting  well  towards  the 
front,  who  now  rose.  "I  feel  like  Jas'  Marmaduke 
does,"  she  began,  falteringly.  Her  hearers  could  not 
see  her  face,  for  she  wore  a  black  calico  sunbonnet, 
and  it  was  tilted  downward.  "I  believe  I'll  be  com- 
mittin'  of  a  grievous  sin  ef  I  let  my  natural  back  'ard- 
ness  keep  me  quiet.  Abner  Daniel  was  the  fust,  last, 
an'  only  pusson  that  made  me  see  the  true  way  into 
God's  blessed  sunshine  out  o'  the  pitch-black  darkness 
that  was  over  me.  All  of  you,  especially  them  livin' 
nigh  me,  knowed  how  I  acted  when  my  daughter  Mary 
died.  We'd  lived  together  sence  she  was  born,  an' 
after  her  pa  passed  away  she  was  all  I  had.  Then 
God  up  an'  tuck  'er.  I  tell  you  it  made  a  devil  out'n 
me.  I  liter ly  cussed  my  Maker  an'  swore  revenge 
agin  'Im.  I  quit  meetin'  an'  closed  my  door  agin  my 
neighbors.  They  all  tried  to  show  me  whar  I  was 
wrong,  but  I  wouldn't  listen.  Some  nights  I  set  up 
from  dark  till  daylight  without  candle  or  fire,  bemean- 
in'  my  God  fer  the  way  He'd  done  me.  You  remem- 
8  113 


Abner   Daniel 

her,  brother  Dole,  that  you  come  a  time  or  two  an' 
prayed  an'  read,  but  I  didn't  budge  out'n  my  cheer 
an'  wouldn't  bend  a  knee.  Then  that  other  little 
preacher,  that  was  learnin'  to  preach,  an'  tuck  yore 
place  when  you  went  off  to  bury  yore  mother  —  he 
come  an'  made  a  set  at  me,  but  every  word  he  said 
made  me  wuss.  I  ordered  him  off  the  hill,  an*  told 
'im  ef  he  appeared  agin  I'd  set  my  dog  on  'im.  I 
don't  know  why  everybody  made  me  so  mad,  but  they 
did.  The  devil  had  me  by  the  leg,  an'  was  a-drag- 
gin'  me  as  fast  to  his  hole  as  a  dog  kin  trot.  But 
one  mornin'  Abner  Daniel  come  over  with  that  thar 
devilish  twinkle  in  his  eyes  that  ud  make  a  cow  laugh, 
an'  begun  to  banter  me  to  sell  'im  the  hay  off'n  my 
little  neck  o'  land  betwixt  the  creek  an'  the  road.  I 
kept  tellin'  'im  I  didn't  want  to  sell,  but  he  kept  a-com- 
in'  an'  a  comin',  with  no  end  o'  fool  talk  about  this 
un  an'  that  un,  tell  somehow  I  got  to  watchin'  fer  'im, 
but  still  I  wouldn't  let  nobody  else  in.  Then  one  day, 
after  I'd  refused  to  sell  an'  told  'im  I'd  give  'im  the 
hay,  he  growed  serious  an'  said,  ses  he :  '  Sister  Pell- 
ham,  I  don't  want  the  hay  on  that  patch.  I've  been 
deliberately  lyin'.  I've  been  comin'  over  heer  as  a 
friend,  to  try  to  make  you  feel  better.'  Then  he  set 
in,  an',  as  God  is  my  highest  judge,  ef  thar  '11  be 
any  more  speritual  talk  on  t'other  shore  it  '11  be  after 
Abner  Daniel  gits  thar.  He  jest  rolled  me  about  in 
his  hands  like  a  piece  o'  wheat  dough.  He  showed 
me  what  aileded  me  as  plain  as  I  could  p'int  out  the 
top  o'  old  Bald  Mountain  to  you  on  a  cleer  day.  He 
told  me,  I  remember,  that  in  grievin'  like  I  was,  I  was 
sinnin'  agin  the  Holy  Ghost,  an'  jest  as  long  as  I  did  it 
I'd  suffer  wuss  an'  wuss  as  a  penalty.  He  said  it  was 
a  fight  betwixt  me  an'  my  Maker  an'  that  I  was  bound 
to  be  worsted.  He  said  that  when  my  Mary  come  into 
the  world  I  couldn't  tell  whar  she  was  from,  nur  why 

114 


Abner   Daniel 

the  Lord  had  fetched  'er,  but  I  was  jest  pleased  beca'se 
it  suited  me  to  be  pleased,  but,  ses  he,  when  she  went 
back  into  the  great  mystery  o'  God's  beautiful  plan 
I  wasn't  satisfied  beca'se  it  didn't  suit  me  to  be.  He 
said  it  was  downright  selfishness,  that  had  no  part 
nur  parcel  in  the  kingdom  o'  heaven.  He  said  to  me, 
ses  he,  'Sister,  ef  you'll  jest  fer  one  minute  make  up 
yore  mind  that  Mary  is  in  better  hands  'an  she  was 
in  yor'n ' — an'  you  kin  bet  yore  bottom  dollar  she  is — 
'  you'll  feel  as  light  as  a  feather. '  I  had  a  tussle,  but 
it  come,  God  bless  him!  it  come.  It  was  jest  like  a 
great  light  had  bu'sted  over  me.  I  fell  down  on  my 
knees  before  'im  an'  shouted  an'  shouted  till  I  was  as 
limp  as  a  wet  rag.  I  had  always  thought  I  was  con 
verted  away  back  in  the  sixties  when  I  was  a  gal, 
but  I  wasn't.  I  got  my  redemption  that  day  under 
Abner  Daniel's  talk,  an'  I  shall  bless  'im  an'  sing  his 
name  on  my  dyin'  bed.  I  don't  want  to  entertain  no 
spiteful  feelin's,  but  ef  he  goes  out  I'll  have  to.  I 
wouldn't  feel  right  in  no  church  too  puore  to  fellow 
ship  with  Abner  Daniel." 

"Good!  Good  woman!"  shouted  Pole  Baker,  as  if 
he  were  at  a  political  speaking.  She  sat  down.  The 
house  seemed  profoundly  moved.  People  were  thinking 
of  the  good  things  they  had  heard  about  Abner  Daniel. 
However,  the  turn  of  affairs  did  not  suit  Dole,  who 
showed  decided  anger.  His  eyes  flashed  as  they  rest 
ed  on  Pole  Baker,  who  had  offended  him  again. 

"I  shall  have  to  ax  that  law-breaker  back  thar  to 
leave  the  church,"  he  said.  "I  think  it's  come  to  a 
purty  pass  ef  strong,  able-bodied  church-members  will 
set  still  an'  allow  the'r  own  house  o'  worship  to  be  in 
sulted  by  such  a  rascal  as  that  one." 

Pole  rose;  many  thought  he  was  going  to  leave, 
but  to  the  surprise  of  all  he  walked  deliberately  up 
to  the  altar  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  railing. 


Abner   Daniel 

"Looky'  heer,"  he  said,  "they  call  you  the  fightin' 
preacher.  They  say  you  believe  in  hittin'  back  when 
yo're  hit.  I'm  heer  to  show  you  that  ef  I  am  a  outlaw 
I  ain't  afeerd  o'  you,  an'  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  be  abused 
by  you  when  you  are  under  the  cloak  o'  this  meetin'. 
When  you  say  some'n'  you  think  is  purty  good  you 
wink  at  some  brother  in  the  amen-corner  an'  he  yells 
'  Amen '  loud  enough  to  be  heerd  to  the  cross  -  roads. 
Then  you  go  on  as  if  nothin'  had  happened.  What  I 
said  back  thar  was  jest  my  way  o'  sayin'  amen.  Little 
Jas'  Marmaduke  hit  you  in  a  weak  spot ;  so  did  what 
Mis'  Pellham  said,  an'  yo're  tryin'  to  take  yore  spite 
out  on  me.  That  won't  work.  I  come  heer  to  see  fair 
play,  an'  I'm  a-goin'  to  do  it.  Uncle  Ab's  a  good  man 
an'  I'm  heer  to  testify  to  it.  He's  come  nigher — him 
an'  Alan  Bishop,  that's  a  chip  off'n  'im  —  to  turn  me 
into  the  right  way  than  all  the  shoutin'-bees  I  ever 
attended,  an'  I've  been  to  as  many  as  thar  are  hairs 
on  my  head.  I  ain't  bald,  nuther.  Now  ef  you  want 
to  have  it  out  with  me  jest  wait  an'  meet  me  outside, 
whar  we'll  both  have  fair  play." 

Dole  was  quivering  with  rage.  "  I  kin  whip  a  dozen 
dirty  scoundrels  like  you,"  he  panted.  "Men  like 
you  insult  ministers,  thinking  they  won't  fight,  but 
after  meetin'  I'll  simply  wipe  up  the  ground  with  you." 

"All  right,  'nough  said!"  and  Pole  sat  down.  There 
was  silence  for  a  moment.  Dole's  furious  panting 
could  be  heard  all  over  the  room.  Then  Abner  Daniel 
rose.  A  vast  change  had  come  over  him.  The  light 
of  quizzical  merriment  had  faded  from  his  face;  noth 
ing  lay  there  except  the  shadows  of  deepest  regret. 
"I've  been  wrong — wrong — wrong!"  he  said,  loudly. 
"I'm  dead  wrong,  ur  Pole  Baker  never  would  'a'  want 
ed  to  fight,  an'  brother  Dole  wouldn't  'a'  been  driv'  to 
lose  his  temper  in  the  pulpit.  I'm  at  the  bottom  o' 
all  this  rumpus  that  has  kept  you  all  from  listenin' 

116 


Abner   Daniel 

to  a  good  sermon.  You've  not  found  me  hard  to  git 
along  with  when  I  see  my  error,  an'  I  promise  that 
I'll  try  from  this  day  on  to  keep  from  shovin'  my  no 
tions  on  folks  that  ain't  ready  fer  'em.  I  want  to  stay 
in  the  church.  I  think  every  sane  man  an'  woman 
kin  do  good  in  a  church,  an'  I  want  to  stay  in  this  un." 

The  confession  was  so  unexpected,  and  furnished 
Dole  with  such  an  easy  loop-hole  for  gracefully  retiring 
from  a  most  unpleasant  predicament,  that  he  actually 
beamed  on  the  speaker. 

"  I  don't  think  any  more  need  be  said,"  he  smiled. 
"Brother  Daniel  has  shown  himself  willing  to  do  the 
right  thing,  an'  I  propose  that  the  charges  be  dropped. " 
Thereupon  a  vote  was  taken,  and  it  went  overwhelm 
ingly  in  Abner's  favor.  After  the  benediction,  which 
followed  immediately,  Pole  Baker  hurried  across  to 
Daniel.  "I  declare,  you  make  me  sick,  Uncle  Ab," 
he  grumbled.  "  What  on  earth  did  you  mean  by  takin' 
back-water?  You  had  'im  whar  the  wool  was  short; 
he  was  white  at  the  gills.  You  could  'a'  mauled  the 
life  out'n  'im.  Ef  I'd—" 

But  Abner,  smiling  indulgently,  had  a  watchful 
eye  on  Dole,  and  was  moving  forward  to  shake  the 
preacher's  outstretched  hand. 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned!"  Pole  grunted,  half  aloud 
and  in  high  disgust,  as  he  pushed  his  way  through 
the  crowd  to  the  door. 

Abner  found  him  waiting  for  him  near  the  hitch- 
ing-post,  where  he  had  been  to  untie  Bishop's  horse. 

"I  reckon,"  he  said,  "bein'  as  you  got  so  mighty 
good  yorese'f,  'at  you  think  I  acted  wrong." 

"Not  any  wuss  'n  I  did,  Pole,"  replied  the  old  man, 
seriously.  "My  advice  to  you  is  to  go  to  Dole  an' 
tell  'im  you  are  sorry." 

"Sorry  hell!" 

"It  ud  be  better  fer  you,"  half  smiled  Abner.  "Ef 

117 


Abner    Daniel 

you  don't,  some  o'  them  hill -Billies  '11  make  a  case 
at  court  agin  you  fer  disturbin'  public  worship.  Be 
fore  a  grand  jury  o'  mossbacks  a  man  with  yore 
record  ud  not  stand  any  better  chance  o'  comin'  cleer  'n 
a  old  bird-nest  ud  o'  makin'  good  soup.  When  you 
was  a-runnin'  of  yore  still  it  made  you  powerful  mad 
to  have  revenue  men  after  you,  didn't  it?  Well,  this 
heer  shebang  is  Dole's  still,  my  boy,  whar  he  claims 
to  make  good  sperits  out'n  bad  material,  an'  he's  got 
a  license,  which  is  more  'n  you  could  'a'  said." 

"I  reckon  yo're  right,"  said  Pole.     "I'll  wait  fer 
'im." 


XV 

the  middle  of  the  following  week  some 
of  the  young  people  of  Darley  gave  a 
picnic  at  Morley's  Spring,  a  beautiful 
and  picturesque  spot  about  a  mile  below 
|  Bishop's  farm.     Alan  had  received  an 
I  urgent  invitation  to  join  the  party,  and 
he  rode  down  after  dinner. 

It  was  a  hot  afternoon,  and  the  party  of  a  dozen 
couples  had  scattered  in  all  directions  in  search  of 
cool,  shady  nooks.  Alan  was  by  no  means  sure  that 
Miss  Barclay  would  be  there,  but,  if  the  truth  must 
be  told,  he  went  solely  with  the  hope  of  at  least  getting 
another  look  at  her.  He  was  more  than  agreeably 
surprised,  for,  just  as  he  had  hitched  his  horse  to  a 
hanging  bow  of  an  oak  near  the  spring,  Frank  Hill- 
house  came  from  the  tangle  of  wild  vines  and  under 
brush  on  a  little  hill-side  and  approached  him. 

"  You  are  just  the  fellow  I'm  looking  for,"  said  Frank. 
"Miss  Dolly  's  over  there  in  a  hammock,  and  I  want 
to  leave  somebody  with  her.  Old  man  Morley  prom 
ised  me  the  biggest  watermelon  in  his  patch  if  I'd 
come  over  for  it.  I  won't  be  long." 

"Oh,  I  don't  care  how  long  you  are/'  smiled  Alan. 
"You  can  stay  all  day  if  you  want  to." 

"I  thought  you  wouldn't  mind,"  grinned  Frank. 
"  I  used  to  think  you  were  the  one  man  I  had  to  fight, 
but  I  reckon  I  was  mistaken.  A  feller  in  love  imagines 
everybody  in  creation  is  against  him." 

119 


Abner   Daniel 

Alan  made  no  reply  to  this,  but  hurried  away  to 
where  Dolly  sat,  a  new  magazine  in  her  hands  and  a 
box  of  candies  on  the  grass  at  her  feet.  "I  saw  you 
riding  down  the  hill,"  she  said,  with  a  pretty  flush 
and  no  little  excitement.  "To  tell  the  truth,  I  sent 
Frank  after  the  melon  when  I  recognized  you.  He's 
been  threatening  to  go  all  the  afternoon,  but  I  insisted 
on  it.  You  may  be  surprised,  but  I  have  a  business 
message  for  you,  and  I  would  have  made  Frank  drive 
me  past  your  house  on  the  way  home  if  you  hadn't 
come." 

"Business,"  Alan  laughed,  merrily;  he  felt  very 
happy  in  her  presence  under  all  her  assurances  of  wel 
come.  "The  idea  of  your  having  a  business  message! 
That's  really  funny." 

"Well,  that's  what  it  is;  sit  down."  She  made 
room  for  him  in  the  hammock,  and  he  sat  beside  her, 
his  foolish  brain  in  a  whirl.  "Why,  yes,  it  is  busi 
ness;  and  it  concerns  you.  I  fancy  it  is  important; 
anyway,  it  may  take  you  to  town  to-night." 

"You  don't  mean  it,"  he  laughed.  She  looked  very 
pretty,  in  her  light  organdie  gown  and  big  rustic  hat, 
with  its  wide,  flowing  ribbons. 

"Yes,  it  is  a  message  from  Rayburn  Miller,  about 
that  railroad  idea  of  yours." 

"Really?    Then  he  told  you  about  that?" 

"  Yes ;  he  was  down  to  see  me  last  week.  He  didn't 
seem  to  think  much  of  it  then — but"  —  she  hesi 
tated  and  smiled,  as  if  over  the  memory  of  something 
amusing — "  he's  been  thinking  of  it  since.  As  Frank 
and  I  drove  through  the  main  street  this  morning — 
Frank  had  gone  in  a  store  to  get  a  basket  of  fruit — 
he  came  to  me  on  his  way  to  the  train  for  Atlanta. 
He  hadn't  time  to  say  much,  but  he  said  if  you  were 
out  here  to-day  to  tell  you  to  come  in  town  to-night 
fail,  so  as  to  meet  him  at  his  office  early  in 
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Abner   Daniel 

the  morning.  He'll  be  back  on  the  midnight  train. 
I  asked  him  if  it  was  about  the  railroad,  and  he  said 
it  was — that  he  had  discovered  something  that  looked 
encouraging." 

"I'm  glad  of  that,"  said  Alan,  a  thrill  of  excitement 
passing  over  him.  "Rayburn  threw  cold  water  on 
my  ideas  the  other  day,  and — " 

"I  know  he  did,  and  it  was  a  shame,"  said  Dolly, 
warmly.  "The  idea  of  his  thinking  he  is  the  only 
man  in  Georgia  with  originality!  Anyway,  I  hope 
it  will  come  to  something." 

"I  certainly  do,"  responded  Alan.  "It's  the  only 
thing  I  could  think  of  to  help  my  people,  and  I  am 
willing  to  stake  all  I  have  on  it — which  is,  after  all, 
nothing  but  time  and  energy." 

"  Well,  don't  you  let  him  nor  any  one  else  discourage 
you, "  said  the  girl,  her  eyes  flashing.  "  A  man  who 
listens  to  other  people  and  puts  his  own  ideas  aside 
is  unworthy  of  the  brain  God  gave  him.  There  is 
another  thing  " — her  voice  sank  lower  and  her  eyes 
sought  the  ground.  "Rayburn  Miller  is  a  fine,  all- 
round  man,  but  he  is  not  perfect  by  any  means.  He 
talks  freely  to  me,  you  know;  he's  known  me  since  I 
was  knee-high.  Well,  he  told  me — he  told  me  of  the 
talk  he  had  with  you  at  the  dance  that  night.  Oh, 
that  hurt  me — hurt  me!" 

"He  told  you  that!"  exclaimed  Alan,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  and  it  actually  disgusted  me.  Does  he  think 
all  men  ought  to  act  on  that  sort  of  advice?  He  might, 
for  he  has  made  an  unnatural  man  of  himself,  with 
all  his  fancies  for  new  faces;  but  you  are  not  that 
kind,  Alan,  and  I'm  sorry  you  and  he  are  so  intimate 
— not  that  he  can  influence  you  much,  but  he  has  al 
ready,  in  a  way,  and  that  has  pained  me  deeply." 

"He  has  influenced  me?"  cried  Alan,  in  surprise. 
"I  think  you  are  mistaken." 

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Abner   Daniel 

"You  may  not  realize  it,  but  he  has/'  said  Dolly, 
with  gentle  and  yet  unyielding  earnestness.  "You 
see,  you  are  so  very  sensitive  that  it  would  not  be  hard 
to  make  you  believe  that  a  young  man  ought  not  to 
keep  on  caring  for  a  girl  whose  parents  object  to  his 
attentions." 

"Ahl"    He  had  caught  her  drift. 

There  was  a  pause.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill  a  little 
brook  ran  merrily  over  the  water-browned  stones,  and 
its  monotonous  lapping  could  be  heard  distinctly. 
Under  the  trees  across  the  open  some  of  the  couples 
had  drawn  together  and  were  singing  : 

"I  see  the  boat  go  'round  the  bend, 
Good-bye,  my  lover,  good-bye." 

Dolly  had  said  exactly  what  he  had  never  hoped  to 
hear  her  say,  and  the  fact  of  her  broaching  such  a 
subject  in  such  a  frank,  determined  way  sent  a  glow 
of  happiness  all  over  him. 

"I  don't  think,"  he  began,  thoughtfully,  "that  Ray- 
burn  or  any  man  could  keep  me  from  " — he  looked 
into  her  full,  expectant  eyes,  and  then  plunged  madly — 
"  could  keep  me  from  caring  for  you,  from  loving  you 
with  all  my  heart,  Dolly ;  but  it  really  is  a  terrible  thing 
to  know  that  you  are  robbing  a  girl  of  not  only  the 
love  of  her  parents  but  her  rightful  inheritance,  when, 
when" — he  hurried  on,  seeing  that  an  impulse  to  speak 
was  urging  her  to  protest — "when  you  haven't  a  cent 
to  your  name,  and,  moreover,  have  a  black  eye  from 
your  father's  mistakes." 

"I  knew  that's  what  he'd  said!"  declared  the  girl, 
almost  white  with  anger.  "I  knew  it!  Oh,  Alan, 
Rayburn  Miller  might  be  able  to  draw  back  and  leave 
a  girl  at  such  a  time,  but  no  man  could  that  truly  loves 
as — as  I  believe  you  love  me.  I  have  known  how  you 
have  felt  all  this  time,  and  it  has  nearly  broken  my 

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Abner   Daniel 

heart,  but  I  could  not  write  to  you  when  you  had  never 
even  told  me,  what  you  have  to-day.  You  must  not 
let  anybody  or  anything  influence  you,  Alan.  I'd 
rather  be  a  poor  man's  wife,  and  do  my  own  work, 
than  let  a  paltry  thing  like  my  father's  money  keep 
me  from  standing  by  the  man  I  love." 

Alan's  face  was  ablaze.  He  drew  himself  up  and 
gazed  at  her,  all  his  soul  in  his  eyes.  "  Then  I  shall 
not  give  you  up,"  he  declared ;  "  not  for  anything  in 
the  world.  And  if  there  is  a  chance  in  the  railroad 
idea  I  shall  work  at  it  ten  times  as  hard,  now  that  I 
have  talked  with  you." 

They  sat  together  in  blissful  ignorance  of  the  pas 
sage  of  time,  till  some  one  shouted  out  that  Frank  Hill- 
house  was  coming  with  the  watermelon.  Then  all 
the  couples  in  sight  or  hearing  ran  to  the  spring,  where 
Hillhouse  could  be  seen  plunging  the  big  melon  into 
the  water.  Hattie  Alexander  and  Charlie  Durant, 
who  had  been  perched  on  a  jutting  bowlder  high  up 
on  the  hill  behind  Dolly  and  Alan,  came  half  running, 
half  sliding  down,  catching  at  the  trees  to  keep  from 
falling. 

"Better  come  get  your  teeth  in  that  melon,"  Hattie 
said,  with  a  knowing  smile  at  Dolly.  They  lived  next 
door  to  each  other  and  were  quite  intimate. 

"Come  on,  Alan.'  Dolly  rose.  "Frank  will  never 
forgive  me  if  I  don't  have  some." 

"I  sha'n't  have  time,  if  I  go  to  town  to-night,"  re 
plied  Alan.  "I  have  something  to  do  at  home  first." 

"Then  I  won't  keep  you,"  Dolly  smiled,  "for  you 
must  go  and  meet  Rayburn  Miller.  I'm  going  to  hope 
that  he  has  had  good  luck  in  Atlanta." 

The  world  had  never  seemed  so  full  of  joy  and  hope 
as  Alan  rode  homeward.  The  sun  was  setting  in 
glorious  splendor  beyond  the  towering  mountains, 
above  which  the  sky  seemed  an  ocean  of  mother-of- 

123 


Abner    Daniel 

pearl  and  liquid  gold.  Truly  it  was  good  to  be  alive. 
At  the  bars  he  met  Abner  Daniel  with  a  fishing-cane 
in  his  hands,  his  bait-gourd  under  his  arm. 

"I  know  right  whar  you've  been/'  he  said,  with  a 
broad  smile,  as  he  threw  down  the  bars  for  Alan  to 
pass  through.  "  I  seed  that  gang  drive  by  in  all  the'r 
flurry  this  mornin',  the  queen  bee  in  the  lead  with  that 
little  makeshift  of  a  man." 

Alan  dismounted  to  prevent  his  uncle  from  putting 
up  the  bars,  and  they  walked  homeward  side  by  side. 

"Yes,  and  I've  had  the  time  of  my  life,"  said  the 
37oung  man.  "I  talked  to  her  for  a  solid  hour." 

"I  could  see  that  in  yore  face,"  said  Abner,  quietly. 
"  You  couldn't  hide  it,  an'  I'll  bet  she  didn't  lose  time 
in  lettin'  you  know  what  she  never  could  hide  from  me." 

"We  understand  each  other  better  now,"  admitted 
Alan. 

"Well,  I've  certainly  set  my  heart  on  the  match — 
on  gittin'  her  in  our  family,"  affirmed  Abner.  "Durn- 
ed  ef — I  declare,  sometimes  I'm  afeerd  I'm  gone  on  'er 
myse'f.  Yes,  I  want  you  'n'  her  to  make  it.  I  want 
to  set  an'  smoke  an'  chaw  on  yore  front  porch,  an' 
heer  her  back  in  the  kitchen  fryin'  ham  an'  eggs,  an'," 
the  old  man  winked,  "I  don't  know  as  I'd  object  to 
trottin'  some'n'  on  my  knee,  to  sorter  pass  the  time  be 
twixt  meals." 

"Oh,  come  off,  Uncle  Ab!"  said  Alan,  with  a  flush, 
"  that's  going  too  far." 

The  old  man  whisked  his  bait-gourd  round  under 
his  other  arm.  His  eyes  twinkled,  and  he  chuckled. 
'  'Tain't  goin'  as  fur  as  havin'  one  on  each  knee  an' 
both  pine  blank  alike  an'  exactly  the  same  age.  I've 
knowed  that  to  happen  in  my  day  an'  time,  when 
nobody  wasn't  even  lookin'  fer  a'  increase." 


XVI 

ATTIE    ALEXANDER    and    Charlie 
Durant  reached  home  before  Dolly  and 
Hillhouse,  and  as  Dolly  alighted  from 
the  buggy  at  the  front  gate  and  was  go 
ing  up  the  flower-bordered  walk  Hattie 
came  to  the  side  fence  and  called  out : 
"Oh,  Dolly,  come  here  quick;  I've  got  some'n'  to 
tell  you." 

"Well,  wait  till  I  get  my  hat  off/'  answered  Dolly. 
"No,  I  can't  wait;  come  on,  or  you'll  wish   you 
had." 

"What  is  it,  goosie?"  Dolly  smiled,  as  she  tripped 
across  the  grass,  her  face  flushed  from  her  rapid 
drive. 

"Doll,  darling,  I've  got  you  in  an  awful  scrape.  I 
know  you'll  never  forgive  me,  but  I  couldn't  help  it. 
When  Charlie  left  me  at  the  gate  mother  come  out  and 
asked  me  all  about  the  picnic,  who  was  there  an'  who 
talked  to  who,  and  all  about  it.  Among  other  things 
I  told  her  about  you  and  Alan  getting  together  for  such 
a  nice,  long  talk,  and — " 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  her,"  broke  in  Dolly,  as  she 
reached  for  the  skirt  of  her  gown  to  rescue  it  from  the 
dew  on  the  high  grass. 

"Wait,  wait;  I'm  not  through  by  a  jugful,"  panted 
Hattie.  "Just  then  your  pa  came  along  an'  asked 
if  you'd  got  home.  I  told  him  you  hadn't,  an'  then  he 
up  and  asked  me  if  Alan  Bishop  was  out  there.  I  had 

125 


Abner   Daniel 

to  say  yes,  of  course,  for  you  know  how  strict  mother 
is  about  telling  a  fib,  and  then  what  do  you  think  he 
did?  He  come  right  out  plain  and  asked  if  Alan  talked 
to  you  by  yourself.  I  didn't  know  what  on  earth 
to  do.  I  reckon  I  actually  turned  white,  and  then 
mother  chipped  in  and  said :  '  Tell  the  truth,  daughter ; 
a  story  never  mends  matters ;  besides,  Colonel  Barclay, 
you  must  be  more  reasonable;  young  folks  will  be 
young  folks,  and  Alan  Bishop  would  be  my  choice  if 
I  was  picking  out  a  husband  for  my  girl/  And  then 
you  ought  to  have  heard  your  pa  snort ;  it  was  as  loud 
as  a  horse  kicking  up  his  heels  in  the  lot.  He  wheeled 
round  an'  made  for  the  house  like  he  was  shot  out  of 
a  gun." 

"I  reckon  he'll  raise  the  very  Old  Harry,"  opined 
Dolly,  grimly.  "  But  I  don't  care ;  he's  driven  me  about 
as  far  as  he  can." 

"I  wouldn't  make  him  any  madder,"  advised  the 
innocent  mischief-maker,  with  a  doleful  expression. 
"It's  all  my  fault.  I—" 

"No,  it  wasn't,"  declared  Dolly.  "But  he  can't 
run  over  me  with  his  unreasonable  ideas  about  Alan 
Bishop." 

With  that  she  turned  and  went  towards  the  house, 
her  head  down.  On  the  veranda  she  met  her  mother, 
who  was  waiting  for  her  with  a  pleasurable  smile. 
"You've  stirred  up  yore  pa  awful,"  she  said,  laughing 
impulsively,  and  then  trying  to  veil  it  with  a  serious 
ness  that  sat  awkwardly  on  her.  "  You'd  better  dodge 
him  right  now.  Oh,  he's  hot!  He  was  just  saying 
this  morning  that  he  believed  you  and  Frank  were 
getting  on  fine,  and  now  he  says  Frank  is  an  idiot  to 
take  a  girl  to  a  picnic  to  meet  his  rival.  How  did  it 
happen?" 

"Just  as  I  intended  it  should,  mother,"  Dolly  said. 
"I  knew  he  was  coming,  and  sent  Frank  off  alter  a 

126 


Abner   Daniel 

watermelon.  He  didn't  have  sense  enough  to  see 
through  my  ruse.  If  I'd  treated  Alan  that  way  he'd 
simply  have  looked  straight  through  me  as  if  I'd  been 
a  window-pane.  Mother,  I'm  not  going  to  put  up  with 
it.  I  tell  you  I  won't.  I  know  what  there  is  in  Alan 
Bishop  better  than  father  does,  and  I  am  not  going  to 
stand  it." 

"You  ain't,  heigh?"  thundered  Barclay  across  the 
hall,  and  he  stalked  out  of  the  sitting-room,  looking 
over  his  eye-glasses,  a  newspaper  in  his  hand.  "  Now, 
my  lady,  let  me  say  to  you  that  Alan  Bishop  shall 
never  darken  my  door,  and  if  you  meet  him  again  any 
where  you  shall  go  away  and  stay." 

"  Father  " — Dolly  had  never  stood  so  tall  in  her  high- 
heeled  shoes  nor  so  straight — "Father,  you  insulted 
Alan  just  now  before  Mrs.  Alexander  and  Hattie,  and 
I'm  not  going  to  have  you  do  it  any  more.  I  love  him, 
and  I  shall  never  love  any  other  man,  nor  marry  any 
other  man.  I  know  he  loves  me,  and  I'm  going  to 
stick  to  him." 

"  Then  the  quicker  you  get  away  from  here  the  bet 
ter,"  said  the  old  man,  beside  himself  with  rage.  "  And 
when  you  go,  don't  you  dare  to  come  back  again." 

The  Colonel  stalked  from  the  room.  Dolly  glanced 
at  her  mother,  who  had  a  pale  smile  of  half-frightened 
enjoyment  on  her  face. 

"I  think  you  said  'most  too  much,"  Mrs.  Barclay 
said.  "You'd  better  not  drive  him  too  far." 

Dolly  went  up  to  her  room,  and  when  supper  was 
called,  half  an  hour  later,  she  declined  to  come  down. 
However,  Mrs.  Barclay  sent  up  a  tray  of  delicacies  by 
Aunt  Milly,  the  old  colored  woman,  which  came  back 
untouched. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  family  to  retire  rather  early 
at  that  season  of  the  year,  and  by  half-past  nine  the 
house  was  dark  and  still.  Mrs.  Barclay  dropped  to 

127 


Abner   Daniel 

sleep  quickly,  but  waked  about  one  o'clock,  and  lay 
unable  to  drift  into  unconsciousness  again  for  the 
delightful  pastime  of  thinking  over  her  daughter's 
love  affair.  She  began  to  wonder  if  Dolly,  too,  might 
not  be  awake,  and  the  prospect  of  a  midnight  chat  on 
that  of  all  topics  made  her  pulse  beat  quickly.  Slip 
ping  noiselessly  out  of  bed,  so  as  not  to  wake  her  hus 
band,  who  was  snoring  in  his  bed  across  the  room,  she 
glided  up-stairs.  She  had  not  been  there  a  moment 
before  the  Colonel  was  waked  by  a  low  scream  from 
her,  and  then  he  heard  her  bare  feet  thumping  on  the 
floor  overhead  as  she  crossed  the  hall  into  the  other 
rooms.  She  screamed  out  again,  and  the  Colonel 
sprang  up,  grasped  his  revolver,  which  always  lay  on 
the  bureau,  and  ran  into  the  hall.  There  he  met  his 
wife,  half  sliding  down  the  stairs. 

"Dolly's  gone,"  she  gasped.  "Her  bed  hasn't  been 
touched.  Oh,  Seth,  do  you  reckon  anything  has  hap 
pened  to  her?" 

The  old  man  stared  in  the  dim  light  of  the  hall,  and 
then  turned  towards  the  door  which  opened  on  the  back 
veranda.  He  said  not  a  word,  but  was  breathing  hard. 
The  cabin  of  old  Ned  and  his  wife,  Aunt  Milly,  was 
near  by. 

"Ned;  oh,  Ned!"  called  out  the  Colonel. 

"Yes,  marster!" 

"Crawl  out  o'  that  bed  and  come  heer!" 

"Yes,  marster;  I'm  a-comin'." 

"Oh,  Seth,  do  you  reckon — do  you — ?" 

"Dry  up,  will  you?"  thundered  Barclay.  "Are  you 
comin',  Ned?" 

Uncle  Ned's  gray  head  was  thrust  out  at  the  partly 
open  door. 

"  You  want  me,  marster?" 

"Yes;  what  do  you  suppose  I  called  you  for  if  I 
didn't  want  you.  Now  I  don't  want  any  lies  from 

128 


Abner   Daniel 

you.  You  know  you  can't  fool  me.  I  want  to  know 
if  you  carried  a  note  from  this  house  to  anybody  since 
sundown." 

"A  note  must  have  been  sent/'  ventured  Mrs.  Bar 
clay,  in  an  undertone.  "  Dolly  never  would  have  gone 
to  him.  He  must  have  been  notified  and  come  after 
her." 

"Dry  up,  for  God's  sake!"  yelled  the  Colonel  over 
his  shoulder  to  the  spectre  by  his  side.  "  Answer  me, 
you  black  rascal." 

"Marse  Seth,  young  miss,  she — " 

"She  sent  a  note  to  Alan  Bishop,  didn't  she?"  inter 
polated  the  Colonel. 

"Marster,  I  didn't  know  it  was  any  harm.  I  des 
'lowed  it  was  some  prank  o'  young  miss'.  Oh,  Lordy  I" 

"  You  might  know  you'd  do  suppen,  you  old  sap- 
haid,"  broke  in  Aunt  Milly  from  the  darkness  of  the 
cabin.  "I  kin  count  on  you  ever'  time." 

"  Get  back  in  bed/'  ordered  the  Colonel,  and  he  walked 
calmly  into  his  room  and  lay  down  again.  His  wife 
followed  him,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  do  anything?"  she  said.  Her 
voice  was  charged  with  a  blending  of  tears  and  a  sort 
of  feminine  eagerness  that  is  beyond  the  comprehen 
sion  of  man. 

"Do  anything?  What  do  you  think  I  ought  to  do? 
Raise  an  alarm,  ring  the  church-bells,  and  call  out  the 
hook  -  and  -  ladder  company?  Huh!  She's  made  her 
bed;  let  her  lie  on  it." 

"You  are  heartless — you  have  no  feeling,"  cried 
his  wife.  The  very  core  of  her  desire  was  to  get  him 
to  talk  about  the  matter.  If  he  was  not  going  to  rouse 
the  neighborhood,  and  thus  furnish  some  one  to  talk 
to,  he,  at  least,  ought  to  be  communicative. 

"Well,  you'd  better  go  to  bed,"  snarled  her  hus 
band. 

9  129 


Abner    Daniel 

"No" — she  scratched  a  match  and  lighted  a  candle 
— "I'm  going  up -stairs  and  see  if  she  left  a  note. 
Now,  you  see,  I  had  to  think  of  that.  The  poor  girl 
may  have  written  something." 

There  did  seem  to  be  a  vestige  of  reason  in  this,  and 
the  old  man  said  nothing  against  it,  throwing  himself 
back  on  his  pillow  with  a  stifled  groan. 

After  about  half  an  hour  Mrs.  Barclay  came  back; 
she  stood  over  him,  holding  the  candle  so  that  its  best 
rays  would  fall  on  his  face. 

"  She  didn't  write  one  word,"  was  her  announcement. 
"I  reckon  she  knew  we'd  understand  or  find  out  from 
Uncle  Ned.  And  just  to  think!" — Mrs.  Barclay  now 
sat  down  on  a  chair  across  the  back  of  which  lay  the 
Colonel's  trousers,  holding  the  candle  well  to  the  right 
that  she  might  still  see  the  rigid  torture  of  his  face — 
"just  to  think,  she's  only  taken  the  dress  she  had  on 
at  the  picnic.  It  will  be  a  poor  wedding  for  her,  when 
she's  always  said  she  wanted  a  lot  of  bridesmaids  and 
ushers  and  decorations.  Poor  child !  Maybe  they  had 
to  drive  into  the  country  to  get  somebody  to  marry 
them.  I  know  brother  Lapsley  wouldn't  do  it  without 
letting  us  know.  I  reckon  she'll  send  the  first  thing 
in  the  morning  for  her  trunk,  if — "  Mrs.  Barclay  gazed 
more  steadily — "if  she  don't  come  herself." 

"Well,  she  needn't  come  herself,"  grunted  the  re 
clining  figure  as  it  flounced  under  the  sheets  to  turn 
its  face  to  the  wall. 

"  You  wouldn't  be  that  hard  on  our  only  child,  just 
because  she — " 

"If  you  don't  go  to  bed,"  the  words  rebounded  from 
the  white  plastering  an  inch  from  the  speaker's  lips, 
"you  'n'  me  '11  have  a  row.  I've  said  what  I'd  do,  and 
I  shall  do  it!" 

"Well,  I'm  going  out  to  speak  to  Aunt  Milly  a  min* 
ute,"  said  Mrs.  Barclay,  and,  drawing  on  a  thin  gray 

130 


Abner    Daniel 

wrapper  and  sliding  her  bare  feet  into  a  pair  of  slip 
pers,  she  shuffled  out  to  the  back  porch. 

"Come  here,  Aunt  Milly,"  she  called  out,  and  she 
sat  down  on  the  highest  step  and  waited  till  the  fat 
old  woman,  enveloped  in  a  coarse  gray  blanket,  joined 
her. 

"Aunt  Milly,  did  you  ever  hear  the  like?"  she  said. 

"She  'ain't  made  off  sho  'nough,  have  she,  Miss 
Annie?" 

"Yes,  she's  gone  an'  done  it;  her  pa  drove  her  just 
a  little  too  far.  I  reckon  she  railly  does  love  Alan 
Bishop,  or  thinks  she  does." 

"I  could  take  a  stick  an'  baste  the  life  out'n  Ned," 
growled  the  black  woman,  leaning  against  the  veranda 
post;  she  knew  better  than  to  sit  down  in  the  presence 
of  her  mistress,  even  if  her  mistress  had  invited  her 
to  talk. 

"Oh,  he  didn't  know  any  better,"  said  Mrs.  Bar 
clay.  "He  always  would  trot  his  legs  off  for  Dolly, 
and  " — Mrs.  Barclay's  tone  was  tentative — "  it  wouldn't 
surprise  me  if  Alan  Bishop  paid  him  to  help  to-night." 

"No,  he  didn't  help,  Miss  Annie.  Ned's  been  in 
bed  ever  since  he  come  back  f um  town  des  atter  sup 
per.  He  tol'  me  des  now  dat  de  young  man  was  in  a 
room  at  de  hotel  playin'  cyards  wid  some  more  boys 
an'  he  got  up  an'  writ  Miss  Dolly  er  note;  but  Ned 
went  straight  to  bed  when  he  got  home." 

"  Then,  Alan  must  have  got  her  to  meet  him  at  the 
front  gate,  don't  you  reckon?  He  didn't  drive  up  to 
the  house  either,  for  I  think  I  would  have  heard  the 
wheels.  He  must  have  left  his  turn-out  at  the  corner." 

"Are  you  a-goin'  to  set  there  all  night?"  thundered 
the  Colonel  from  his  bed.  "How  do  you  expect  any 
body  to  sleep  with  that  low  mumbling  going  on,  like 
a  couple  of  dogs  under  the  house?" 

Mrs.  Barclay  got  up,  with  a  soft,  startled  giggle. 


Abner   Daniel 

"He  can't  sleep  because  he's  bothered/'  she  said, 
in  a  confidential  undertone.  "We'd  better  go  fn.  I 
don't  want  to  nag  him  too  far;  it's  going  hard  with 
Dolly  as  it  is.  I'm  curious  to  see  if  he  really  will  re 
fuse  to  let  her  come  back.  Do  you  reckon  he  will, 
Milly?" 

"I  sw'ar  I  don't  know,  Miss  Annie,"  replied  the 
dark  human  shape  from  the  depths  of  her  blanket. 
"  Tie  sho  is  a  caution,  an'  you  kin  see  he's  tormented. 
I'll  bet  Ned  won't  have  a  whole  skin  in  de  mornin'." 

The  Colonel,  despite  his  sullen  effort  to  conceal 
the  fact  from  his  wide-awake  wife,  slept  very  little 
during  the  remainder  of  that  night,  and  when  ne  rose 
at  the  usual  hour  he  went  out  to  see  his  horse  fed. 

Mrs.  Barclay  was  fluttering  from  the  dining-room 
to  the  kitchen,  gossiping  with  the  cook,  who  had  run 
out  of  anything  to  say  on  the  subject  and  could  only 
grunt,  "Yes'um,  and  no'um,"  according  to  the  reply 
she  felt  was  expected.  Aunt  Milly  was  taking  a  plate 
of  waffles  into  the  dining-room  when  a  little  negro 
boy,  about  five  years  of  age,  the  son  of  the  cook  at  the 
Alexanders',  crawled  through  a  hole  in  the  fence  be 
tween  the  two  houses  and  sauntered  towards  the  kitch 
en.  On  the  door-step  he  espied  a  black  kitten  that 
took  his  fancy  and  he  caught  it  and  began  to  stroke 
it  with  his  little  black  hand. 

"What  you  want  now?"  Aunt  Milly  hovered  over 
him  like  an  angry  hen.  "Want  ter  borrow  suppen, 
I  boun'  you;  yo'-alls  folks  is  de  beatenes'  people  ter 
borrow  I  ever  lived  alongst." 

The  boy  seemed  to  have  forgotten  his  errand  in 
his  admiration  for  the  kitten. 

"What  you  atter  now?"  snarled  Aunt  Milly,  "eggs, 
flour,  sugar,  salt,  pepper,  flat  -  iron  ?  Huh,  we-all 
ain't  keepin'  er  sto'." 

The  boy  looked  up  suddenly  and  drew  his  ideas  to- 

132 


Abner  Daniel 

gether  with  a  jerk.  "Miss  Dolly,  she  say  sen'  'er 
Mother  Hubbub  wrappin'  dress,  hangin'  on  de  foot 
er  her  bed-post." 

"What?"  gasped  Aunt  Milly,  and,  hearing  the  ex 
clamation,  Mrs.  Barclay  came  to  the  door  and  paused 
to  listen. 

"Miss  Dolly,"  repeated  the  boy,  "she  say  sen'  'er 
'er  wrappin'  dress  off'n  de  foot-post  er  'er  bed;  en,  en, 
she  say  keep  'er  two  waffles  hot  en,  en  dry — not  sobby 
— en  ter  git  'er  dat  fresh  cream  fer  'er  coffee  in  'er  lill 
pitcher  whut  she  lef  in  de  ice-box." 

"Dolly?  Dolly?"  cried  Mrs.  Barclay.  "You  are 
surely  mistaken,  Pete.  Where  did  you  see  her?" 

"Over  't  we-all's  house,"  said  the  boy,  grabbing 
the  kitten  which  had  slid  from  his  momentarily  in 
attentive  fingers. 

"Over  't  yo '-all's  house!"  cried  Milly,  almost  in  a 
tone  of  horror,  "en,  en  is  her  husban'  wid  'er?" 

The  boy  grinned  contemptuously. 

"Huh,  Miss  Dolly  ain't  no  married  ooman — you 
know  she  ain't,  huh!  I  seh,  married!  Look  heer" — 
to  the  kitten — "don't  you  scratch  me,  boy!" 

Mrs.  Barclay  bent  over  him  greatly  excited.  "  What 
was  she  doing  over  at  your  house,  Pete?" 

"  Nothin'  w'en  I  seed  'er  'cep'  jest  her  en  Miss  Hattie 
lyin'  in  de  bed  laughin'  en  car'yin'  on." 

"Oh,  Lordy!"  Mrs.  Barclay's  eyes  were  riveted  on 
Aunt  Milly's  beaming  face,  "do  you  reckon — ?" 

"  She's  slep'  over  dar  many  times  before  now,  Miss 
Annie,"  said  Aunt  Milly,  and  she  burst  into  a  round, 
ringing  laugh,  her  fat  body  shaking  like  a  mass  of 
jelly.  "She  done  it  time  en  ergin — time  en  ergin." 

"Well,  ain't  that  a  purty  mess?"  said  Mrs.  Barclay, 
almost  in  a  tone  of  disappointment.  "I'll  get  the 
wrapper,  Pete,  and  you  tell  her  to  put  it  on  and  hwrry 
over  here  as  soon  as  she  possibly  can." 

133 


Abner   Daniel 

A  few  minutes  later  Dolly  came  from  the  Alexander's 
and  met  her  mother  at  the  gate.  "Oh,  Dolly/'  Mrs. 
Barclay  cried,  "you've  got  us  in  an  awful  mess.  We 
missed  you  about  midnight  and  we  thought — your 
father  made  Ned  acknowledge  that  he  took  a  note  to 
Alan  Bishop  from  you,  and  we  thought  you  had  gone 
off  to  get  married.  Your  father's  in  an  awful  temper, 
swearing  you  shall  never — " 

Dolly  tossed  her  head  angrily.  "Well,  you  needn't 
say  I  got  you  into  it;  you  did  it  yourselves  and  I  don't 
care  how  much  you  suffer.  1  say!  When  I  go  to 
get  married  it  will  not  be  that  way,  you  can  depend 
on  it.  Now,  I  reckon,  it  will  be  all  over  town  that — " 

"No,  it  needn't  get  out  of  the  family,"  Mrs.  Bar 
clay  assured  her,  in  a  guilty  tone  of  apology.  "  Your 
pa  wouldn't  let  me  raise  any  alarm.  But  you  did 
send  a  note  to  Alan  Bishop,  Dolly." 

"Yes,  I  knew  he  was  in  town,  and  would  be  here 
to-day,  and  I  simply  wrote  him  that  father  was  angry 
at  our  seeing  each  other  again  and  that  I  hoped  he 
would  avoid  meeting  him  just  now — that  was  all." 

"Well,  well,  well."  Mrs.  Barclay  hurried  through 
the  house  and  out  to  where  Barclay  stood  at  the  lot 
fence  watching  Ned  curry  his  horse. 

"What  do  you  reckon?"  she  gasped.  "Dolly  didn't 
go  off  at  all;  she  just  went  to  spend  the  night  with 
Hattie  Alexander." 

His  face  changed  its  expression  against  his  will; 
the  blood  flowed  into  the  pallor  and  a  satisfied  gleam 
shot  from  his  half-closed  eyes.  He  turned  from  her, 
looking  over  the  fence  at  the  horse. 

"You're  leavin'  a  splotch  on  that  right  hind  leg," 
he  said.  "Are  you  stone  blind?" 

"I  was  gittin'  roun'  to  it,  marster,"  said  the  negro, 
looking  his  surprise  over  such  an  unexpected  reproof. 

"  No ;  she  just  wrote  Alan  that  you  was  displeased 
134 


Abner   Daniel 

at  them  getting  together  yesterday  and  advised  him 
to  dodge  you  to-day  while  he  is  in  town." 

"Well,  he'd  better!"  said  the  Colonel,  gruffly,  as 
they  walked  towards  the  house.  "You  tell  her,"  he 
enjoined — "  you  tell  her  what  I  said  when  I  thought  she 
was  gone.  It  will  be  a  lesson  to  her.  She  can  tell 
now  how  I'll  do  if  she  does  go  against  me  in  this 
matter." 

"I  reckon  you  are  glad  she  didn't  run  off,"  replied 
his  wife  thoughtfully.  "The  Lord  only  knows  what 
you'd  do  about  writing  your  letters  without  her  help. 
I  believe  she  knows  more  about  your  business  right 
now  than  you  do,  and  has  a  longer  head.  You'd  'a' 
saved  a  thousand  dollars  by  taking  her  advice  the 
other  day  about  that  cotton  sale." 


his  way  to  Rayburn  Miller's  office  that 
'  morning  Alan  decided  that  he  would  not 
[allude  to  the  note  he  had  received  the 
previous  evening  from  Dolly.  He  did 
not  like  the  cynical  mood  into  which 
'  such  subjects  seemed  to  draw  his  friend. 
He  knew  exactly  what  Miller  would  say,  and  felt  that 
it  would  be  too  personal  to  be  agreeable. 

He  found  the  lawyer  standing  in  the  door  of  his 
little  office  building  waiting  for  him. 

"I  reckon  my  message  surprised  you,"  Miller  said, 
tentatively,  as  he  shook  hands. 

"It  took  me  off  my  feet/'  smiled  Alan.  "You  see, 
I  never  hoped  to  get  you  interested  in  that  scheme, 
and  when  I  heard  you  were  actually  going  to  Atlanta 
about  it,  I  hardly  knew  what  to  make  of  it." 

Miller  turned  into  his  office,  kicked  a  chair  towards 
Alan  and  dropped  into  his  creaking  rocker. 

"It  was  not  due  to  you  that  I  did  get  interested," 
he  said.  "  Do  you  know,  I  can't  think  of  it  without 
getting  hot  all  over  with  shame.  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
there  is  one  thing  I  have  always  been  vain  about.  I 
didn't  honestly  think  there  was  a  man  in  Georgia  that 
could  give  me  any  tips  about  investments,  but  I  had  to 
take  back  water,  and  for  a  woman.  Think  of  that — 
a  woman  knocked  me  off  my  perch  as  clean  and  easy 
as  she  could  stick  a  hair-pin  in  a  ball  of  hair.  I'm 
not  unfair;  when  anybody  teaches  me  any  tricks,  I 

136 


Abner   Daniel 

acknowledge  the  corn  an'  take  off  my  hat.  It  was 
this  way:  I  dropped  in  to  see  Miss  Dolly  the  other 
evening.  I  accidentally  disclosed  two  things  in  an  off 
hand  sort  of  way.  I  told  her  some  of  the  views  I  gave 
you  at  the  dance  in  regard  to  marriage  and  love  and 
one  thing  and  another,  and  then,  in  complimenting 
you  most  highly  in  other  things,  I  confess  I  sort  o' 
poked  fun  at  your  railroad  idea." 

"I  thought  you  had,"  said  Alan,  good-naturedly; 
"but  go  on." 

"  Well,  she  first  read  me  a  lecture  about  bad,  empty, 
shallow  men,  whose  very  souls  were  damned  by 
their  past  careers,  interfering  with  the  pure  impulses  of 
younger  men,  and  I'll  swear  I  felt  like  crawling  in  a 
hole  and  pulling  the  hole  in  after  me.  Well,  I  got 
through  that,  in  a  fashion,  because  she  didn't  want  me 
to  see  her  real  heart,  and  that  helped  me.  Then  she 
took  up  the  railroad  scheme.  You  know  I  had  heard 
that  she  advised  her  father  in  all  his  business  mat 
ters,  but,  geewhilikins !  I  never  dreamt  she  could  give 
me  points,  but  she  did — she  simply  did.  She  looked 
me  straight  in  the  eye  and  stared  at  me  like  a  nation 
al  bank  examiner  as  she  asked  me  to  explain  why 
that  particular  road  could  not  be  built,  and  why  it 
would  not  be  a  bonanza  for  the  owners  of  the  timber- 
land.  I  thought  she  was  an  easy  fish  at  first,  and  I 
gave  her  plenty  of  line,  but  she  kept  peppering  me 
with  unanswerable  questions  till  I  lay  down  on  the 
bank  as  weak  as  a  rag.  The  first  bliff  she  gave  me 
was  in  wanting  to  know  if  there  were  not  many  branch 
roads  that  did  not  own  their  rolling  stock.  She  said 
she  knew  one  in  the  iron  belt  in  Alabama  that  didn't 
own  a  car  or  an  engine,  and  wouldn't  have  them  as 
a  free  gift.  She  said  if  such  a  road  were  built  as  you 
plan  these  two  main  lines  would  simply  fall  over  each 
other  to  send  out  cars  to  be  loaded  for  shipment  at 

137 


Abner   Daniel 

competitive  rates.  By  George!  it  was  a  corker.  I 
found  out  the  next  day  that  she  was  right,  and  that 
doing  away  with  the  rolling  stock,  shops,  and  so  forth, 
would  cut  down  the  cost  of  your  road  more  than  half." 

"That's  a  fact,"  exclaimed  Alan,  "and  I  had  not 
thought  of  it." 

"She's  a  stronger  woman  than  I  ever  imagined," 
said  Miller.  "By  George!  if  she  were  not  on  your 
string,  I'd  make  a  dead  set  for  her.  A  wife  like  that 
would  make  a  man  complete.  She's  in  love  with  you 
— or  thinks  she  is — but  she  hasn't  that  will  o'  the  wisp 
glamour.  She's  business  from  her  toes  to  her  finger 
tips.  By  George!  I  believe  she  makes  a  business  of 
her  love  affair;  she  seems  to  think  she'll  settle  it  by 
a  sum  in  algebra.  But  to  get  back  to  the  railroad,  for 
I've  got  lots  to  tell  you.  What  do  you  reckon  I  found 
that  day?  You  couldn't  guess  in  a  thousand  years. 
It  was  a  preliminary  survey  of  a  railroad  once  planned 
from  Darley  right  through  your  father's  purchase  to 
Morganton,  North  Carolina.  It  was  made  just  before 
the  war,  by  old  Colonel  Wade,  who,  in  his  day,  was 
one  of  the  most  noted  surveyors  in  the  State.  This 
end  of  the  line  was  all  I  cared  about,  and  that  was 
almost  as  level  as  a  floor  along  the  river  and  down  the 
valley  into  the  north  end  of  town.  It's  a  bonanza, 
my  boy.  Why  that  big  bottle  of  timber-land  has 
never  been  busted  is  a  wonder  to  me.  If  as  many 
Yankees  had  been  nosing  about  here  as  there  have 
been  in  other  Southern  sections  it  would  have  been 
snatched  up  long  ago." 

"I'm  awfully  glad  to  hear  you  say  all  this,"  said 
Alan,  "  for  it  is  the  only  way  out  of  our  difficulty,  and 
something  has  to  be  done." 

"It  may  cost  you  a  few  years  of  the  hardest  work 
you  ever  bucked  down  to,"  said  Miller,  "  and  some  sleep 
less  nights,  but  I  really  believe  you  have  fallen  on  to  a 

138 


Abner    Daniel 

better  thing  than  any  I  ever  struck.  I  could  make  it 
whiz.  I've  already  done  something  that  will  astonish 
you.  I  happen  to  know  slightly  Tillman  Wilson,  the 
president  of  the  Southern  Land  and  Timber  Company. 
Their  offices  are  in  Atlanta.  I  knew  he  was  my  man 
to  tackle,  so  when  I  got  to  Atlanta  yesterday  I  ran 
upon  him  just  as  if  it  were  accidental.  I  invited  him 
to  lunch  with  me  at  the  Capitol  City  Club — you  know 
I'm  a  non-resident  member.  You  see,  I  knew  if  I 
put  myself  in  the  light  of  a  man  with  something  to 
sell,  he'd  hurry  away  from  me;  but  I  didn't.  As  a 
pretext,  I  told  him  I  had  some  clients  up  here  who 
wanted  to  raise  a  considerable  amount  of  money  and 
that  the  security  offered  was  fine  timber-land.  You 
see  that  caught  him;  he  was  on  his  own  ground.  I 
saw  that  he  was  interested,  and  I  boomed  the  property 
to  the  skies.  The  more  I  talked  the  more  he  was  in 
terested,  till  it  was  bubbling  out  all  over  him.  He's 
a  New-Englander,  who  thinks  a  country  lawyer  with 
out  a  Harvard  education  belongs  to  an  effete  civiliza 
tion,  and  I  let  him  think  he  was  pumping  me.  I  even 
left  off  my  g's  and  ignored  my  r's.  I  let  him  think 
he  had  struck  the  softest  thing  of  his  life.  Pretty  soon 
he  begun  to  want  to  know  if  you  cared  to  sell,  but  I 
skirted  that  indifferently  as  if  I  had  no  interest  what 
ever  in  it.  I  told  him  your  father  had  bought  the  prop 
erty  to  hold  for  an  advance,  that  he  had  spent  years  of 
his  life  picking  out  the  richest  timber  spots  and  buying 
them  up.  Then  he  came  right  out,  as  I  hoped  he  would, 
and  asked  me  the  amount  you  wanted  to  borrow  on  the 
property.  1  had  to  speak  quick,  and  remembering  that 
you  had  said  the  old  gentleman  had  put  in  about  twen 
ty  thousand  first  and  last,  I  put  the  amount  at  twenty- 
five  thousand.  I  was  taking  a  liberty,  but  I  can  easily 
get  you  out  of  it  if  you  decide  not  to  do  it.'* 

"Twenty -five    thousand!     On   that   land?"    Alan 
139 


Abner   Daniel 

cried.  "  It  would  tickle  my  father  to  death  to  sell  it  for 
that." 

"  I  can  arrange  the  papers  so  that  you  are  not  liable 
for  any  security  outside  of  the  land,  and  it  would  prac 
tically  amount  to  a  sale  if  you  wished  it,  but  you  don't 
wish  it.  I  finally  told  him  that  I  had  an  idea  that  you 
would  sell  out  for  an  even  hundred  thousand/' 

"'A  hundred  thousand!"  repeated  Alan,  with  a  cheery 
laugh.  "Yes,  we'd  let  go  at  that." 

"  Well,  the  figures  didn't  scarce  him  a  bit,  for  he  finally 
came  right  out  and  asked  me  if  it  was  my  opinion  that 
in  case  his  company  made  the  loan,  you  would  agree 
to  give  him  the  refusal  of  the  land  at  one  hundred 
thousand.  I  told  him  I  didn't  know,  that  I  thought 
it  possible,  but  that  just  then  I  had  no  interest  in  the 
matter  beyond  borrowing  a  little  money  on  it.  He 
asked  me  how  long  I  was  going  to  stay  in  Atlanta. 
I  told  him  I  was  going  to  a  bank  and  take  the  night 
train  back.  'The  banks  will  stick  you  for  a  high 
rate  of  interest/  he  said,  jealously.  'They  don't  do 
business  for  fun,  while,  really,  our  concern  happens 
just  now  to  have  some  idle  capital  on  hand.  Do  you 
think  you  could  beat  five  per  cent.  ?  I  admitted  that 
it  was  low  enough,  but  I  got  up  as  if  I  was  suddenly 
reminded  that  the  banks  close  early  in  the  afternoon. 
'I  think  we  can  make  the  loan/  he  said,  'but  I  must 
first  see  two  or  three  of  the  directors.  Can't  you  give 
me  two  hours?'  I  finally  gave  in  and  promised  to  meet 
him  at  the  Kimball  House  at  four.  I  went  to  a  matinee, 
saw  it  half  over,  and  went  in  at  the  ladies'  entrance  of 
the  hotel.  I  saw  him  looking  about  for  me  and  dodged 
him." 

"Dodged  him?"  echoed  Alan.     "Why—" 

Miller  laughed.  "You  don't  suppose  I'd  let  a  big 
fish  like  that  see  me  flirting  my  hook  and  pole  about 
in  open  sunlight,  do  you?  I  saw  by  his  manner  that 

140 


Abner   Daniel 

he  was  anxious  to  meet  me,  and  that  was  enough ;  be 
sides,  you  can't  close  a  deal  like  that  in  a  minute,  and 
there  are  many  slips.  I  went  back  to  the  club  and 
threw  myself  on  a  lounge  and  began  to  smoke  and 
read  an  afternoon  paper.  Presently  he  came  in  a  cab. 
I  heard  him  asking  for  me  in  the  hall  and  buried  my 
head  in  the  paper.  He  came  in  on  me  and  I  rose  and 
looked  stupid.  I  can  do  it  when  I  try — if  it  is  something 
God  has  failed  at — and  I  began  to  apologize. 

"  He  didn't  seem  to  care.  '  If  it  had  been  a  deal  of 
your  own,'  he  said  with  a  laugh,  'you'd  have  been 
more  prompt,'  and  I  managed  to  look  guilty.  Then 
he  sat  down. 

" '  Our  directors  are  interested, '  he  said,  confidentially. 
'  The  truth  is  there  is  not  another  concern  in  America 
that  can  handle  that  property  as  cheaply  as  we  can. 
We  happen  to  have  a  railroad  about  that  length  up  in 
East  Tennessee  that  has  played  out,  and  you  see  we 
could  move  it  to  where  it  would  do  some  good.' 

"  As  soon  as  he  told  me  that  I  knew  he  was  our  meat; 
besides,  I  saw  trade  in  his  eye  as  big  as  an  arc-light. 
To  make  a  long  tale  short,  he  is  coming  up  here  to 
night,  and  if  your  father  is  willing  to  accept  the  loan, 
he  can  get  the  money,  giving  only  the  land  as  security 
— provided  we  don't  slip  up.  Here's  the  only  thing  I'm 
afraid  of.  When  Wilson  gets  here  he  may  get  to  mak 
ing  inquiries  around  and  drop  on  to  the  report  that 
your  father  is  disgusted  with  his  investment,  and  smell 
a  mouse  and  pull  off.  What  I  want  to  do  is  to  get  at 
him  the  first  thing  after  breakfast  in  the  morning,  so 
you'd  better  bring  your  father  and  mother  in  early.  If 
we  once  get  Wilson's  twenty-five  thousand  into  it,  we 
can  eventually  sell  out.  The  main  thing  is  the  loan. 
Don't  you  think  so?" 

"I  certainly  do,"  said  Alan.  "Of  course,  a  good 
many  things  might  interfere;  we'd  have  to  get  a  right 

141 


Abner   Daniel 

of  way  and  a  charter  before  the  road  could  be  built, 
and  I  reckon  they  won't  buy  till  they  are  sure  of  those 
things." 

"No  it  may  take  a  long  time  and  a  lot  of  patience/' 
said  Miller.  "But  your  father  could  afford  to  wait 
if  he  can  get  his  money  back  by  means  of  the  loan. 
I  tell  you  that's  the  main  thing.  If  I  had  offered  to 
sell  Wilson  the  whole  thing  at  twenty-five  thousand 
he  never  would  have  come  up  here,  but  he  is  sure  now 
that  the  property  is  just  what  he  is  looking  for.  Oh, 
we  are  not  certain  of  him  by  a  long  jump!  It  all  de 
pends  on  whether  he  will  insist  on  going  over  there 
or  not.  If  he  does,  those  moss-backs  will  bu'st  the 
thing  wide  open.  If  he  comes  straight  to  my  office 
in  the  morning  the  deal  may  be  closed,  but  if  he  lies 
around  the  hotel  talking,  somebody  will  spoil  our 
plans  and  Wilson  will  hang  off  to  make  his  own  terms 
later  —  if  he  makes  any  at  all.  It's  ticklish,  but  we 
may  win." 

"It  is  a  rather  ticklish  situation,"  admitted  Alan, 
"  but  even  if  we  do  get  the  loan  on  the  property,  don't 
you  think  Wilson  may  delay  matters  and  hope  to 
scoop  the  property  in  for  the  debt?" 

"He  might,"  Miller  smiled,  "if  he  didn't  want  to 
move  that  railroad  somewhere  else,  and,  besides,  your 
father  can  keep  the  money  in  suitable  shape  to  pay  off 
the  note  in  any  emergency  and  free  himself." 

"I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you,  old  man,"  an 
swered  Alan.  "If  you  had  been  personally  interested 
in  this  you  could  not  have  done  more." 

Miller  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  and  smiled 
significantly.  "Do  I  look  like  a  man  with  nothing 
in  it?"  he  asked. 

"But  you  haven't  anything  in  it/'  retorted  Alan, 
wonderingly. 

"  That's  all  you  know  about  it  "  Miller  laughed. 
142 


Abner   Daniel 

"If  the  road  is  built  I'll  make  by  it.  This  is  another 
story.  As  soon  as  I  saw  you  were  right  about  putting 
a  railroad  into  the  mountains,  I  began  to  look  around 
for  some  of  that  timber-land.  I  didn't  have  long  to 
wait,  for  the  only  man  that  holds  much  of  it  besides 
Colonel  Barclay — Peter  Mosely,  whom  Perkins  fooled 
just  as  he  did  your  father — came  in.  He  was  laying 
for  me,  I  saw  it  in  his  eye.  The  Lord  had  delivered 
him  to  me,  and  I  was  duly  thankful.  He  was  a  morsel 
I  liked  to  look  at.  He  opened  up  himself,  bless  you  I 
and  bragged  about  his  fine  body  of  virgin  timber.  I 
looked  bored,  but  let  him  run  on  till  he  was  tired ;  then 
I  said: 

"Well,  Mosely,  what  do  you  intend  to  do  with 
your  white  elephant?  You  know  it's  not  just  the 
sort  Barnum  is  looking  for.' 

"He  kind  o'  blinked  at  that,  but  he  said,  'I've  half 
a  notion  to  sell.  The  truth  is,  I've  got  the  finest  in 
vestment  open  to  me  that  I  ever  had.  If  I  could  afford 
to  wait  a  few  years  I  could  coin  money  out  of  this 
property,  but  I  believe  in  turning  money  quick.' 

"'So  do  I,'  said  I,  and  watched  him  flirt  about  in 
the  frying-pan.  Then  I  said,  'What  is  the  price  you 
hold  it  at?' 

'"I  thought/  said  he,  'that  I  ought  to  get  as  much 
as  I  paid/ 

"As  much  as  you  paid  Abe  Tompkins  and  Per 
kins?'  I  said,  with  a  grin.  'Do  you  think  you  could 
possibly  sell  a  piece  of  land  for  as  much  as  those 
sharks?  If  you  can,  you'd  better  go  in  the  real-estate 
business.  You'd  coin  money.  Why,  they  yanked  two 
thousand  out  of  you,  didn't  they?' 

"'I  don't  really  think  Perkins  had  anything  to  do 
with  it/  he  said.  'That's  just  a  report  out  about  old 
man  Bishop's  deal.  I  bought  my  land  on  my  own 
judgment/ 

143 


Abner   Daniel 

'"Well/  I  said,  'how  will  fifteen  hundred  round 
wheels  strike  you? 

"'I  believe  I'll  take  you  up/  he  said.  'I  want  to 
make  that  other  investment. '  So  we  closed  and  1  went 
at  once  to  have  the  deed  recorded  before  he  had  a 
chance  to  change  his  mind.  Now,  you  see,  I'm  inter 
ested  in  the  thing,  and  I'm  going  to  help  you  put  it 
through.  If  your  folks  want  the  loan,  bring  them  in 
in  the  morning,  and  if  we  can  manage  our  Yankee 
just  right,  we'll  get  the  money." 


XVIII 

(FTER  supper  that  evening  the  Bishops 
sat  out  on  the  veranda  to  get  the  cool 
air  before  retiring.  There  was  only  one 
light  burning  in  the  house,  and  that  was 
the  little,  smoky  lamp  in  the  kitchen, 
where  the  cook  was  washing  the  dishes. 
Bishop  sat  near  his  wife,  his  coat  off  and  vest  un 
buttoned,  his  chair  tilted  back  against  the  weather- 
boarding.  Abner  Daniel,  who  had  been  trying  ever 
since  supper  to  cheer  them  up  in  regard  to  their 
financial  misfortune,  sat  smoking  in  his  favorite  chair 
near  the  banisters,  on  top  of  which  he  now  and  then 
placed  his  stockinged  feet. 

"You  needn't  talk  that  away,  brother  Ab,"  sighed 
Mrs.  Bishop.  "Yo're  jest  doin'  it  out  o'  goodness 
o'  heart.  We  might  as  well  face  the  truth;  we've  got 
to  step  down  from  the  position  we  now  hold,  an'  pres 
ent  way  o'  livin'.  And  thar's  Adele.  Pore  child! 
She  said  in  'er  last  letter  that  she'd  cried  'er  eyes  out. 
She  was  bent  on  comin'  home,  but  'er  uncle  William 
won't  let  'er.  He  said  she'd  not  do  any  good." 

"An'  she  wouldn't,"  put  in  Bishop,  gruffly.  "The 
sight  o'  you  an'  Alan  before  me  all  the  time  is  enough 
to  show  me  what  a  fool  I've  been." 

"You  are  both  crossin'  bridges  'fore  you  git  to  'em," 
said  Abner.  "A  lots  o'  folks  has  come  out'n  scrapes 
wuss'n  what  you  are  in,  ten  to  one.  I  'ain't  never 
mentioned  it,  but  my  land  hain't  got  no  mortgage  on 

145 


Abner  Daniel 

it,  an'  I  could  raise  a  few  scads,  to  he'p  keep  up  yore 
intrust  an'  taxes  till  you  could  see  yore  way  ahead." 

"  Huh !"  snorted  his  brother-in-law.  "  Do  you  reckon 
I'd  let  as  old  a  man  as  you  are,  an'  no  blood  kin,  stake 
his  little  all  to  help  me  out  of  a  hole  that  is  gittin'  deeper 
an'  wider  all  the  time — a  hole  I  deliberately  got  myse'f 
into?  Well,  not  much!" 

"I  wouldn't  listen  to  that  nuther,"  declared  Mrs. 
Bishop,  "but  not  many  men  would  offer  it." 

They  heard  a  horse  trotting  down  the  road  and  all 
bent  their  heads  to  listen.  "It's  Alan,"  said  Abner. 
"I  was  thinkin'  it  was  time  he  was  showin'  up." 

Mrs.  Bishop  rose  wearily  to  order  the  cook  to  get 
his  supper  ready,  and  returned  to  the  veranda  just  as 
Alan  Was  coming  from  the  stable.  He  sat  down  on 
the  steps,  lashing  the  legs  of  his  dusty  trousers  with 
his  riding-whip.  It  was  plain  that  he  had  something 
of  importance  to  say  and  they  all  waited  in  impatient 
silence. 

"Father,"  he  said,  "I've  had  a  talk  with  Rayburn 
Miller  about  your  land;  he  and  I  have  lately  been 
working  on  a  little  idea  of  mine.  You  know  there  are 
people  who  will  lend  money  on  real-estate.  How  would 
it  suit  you  to  borrow  twenty  -  five  thousand  dollars  on 
that  land,  giving  that  alone  as  security." 

There  was  a  startled  silence,  and  Bishop  broke  it  in 
a  tone  of  great  irritation. 

"  Do  you  take  me  f er  a  plumb  fool  ?"  he  asked.  "  When 
I  want  you  an'  Miller  to  dabble  in  my  business  I'll 
call  on  you.  Twenty-five  thousand,  I  say !  If  I  could 
exchange  every  acre  of  it  f  er  enough  to  lift  the  mortgage 
on  this  farm  an'  keep  a  roof  over  our  heads  I'd  do  it 
gladly.  Pshaw!" 

There  was  another  silence,  and  then  Alan  began  to 
explain.  He  almost  seemed  to  his  father  and  mother 
to  be  some  stranger,  as  he  sat  there  in  the  half  dark- 

146 


Abner   Daniel 

ness,  his  eyes  hidden  by  the  brim  of  his  soft  hat,  and 
told  them  how  he  had  worried  over  their  trouble  till 
the  idea  of  building  a  railroad  had  come  to  him.  Then 
Miller  had  become  interested,  after  discouraging  him, 
and  had  gone  to  Atlanta  to  see  Wilson,  and  it  remained 
for  the  next  day  to  decide  what  the  outcome  would  be 
in  regard  to  the  big  loan. 

While  he  talked  Mrs.  Bishop  sat  like  a  figure  cut 
from  stone,  and  Bishop  leaned  forward,  his  elbows  on 
his  knees,  his  big  face  in  his  hands.  It  was  as  if  a 
tornado  of  hope  had  blown  over  him,  shaking  him 
through  and  through. 

"You  been  doin'  this  to  he'p  me  out,"  he  gasped, 
"  an'  I  never  so  much  as  axed  yore  opinion  one  way  or 
another." 

"I'd  rather  see  you  make  money  out  of  that  pur 
chase  than  anything  in  the  world,"  said  his  son,  with 
feeling.  "People  have  made  fun  of  you  in  your  old 
age,  but  if  we  can  build  the  road  and  you  can  get 
your  hundred  thousand  dollars  some  of  these  folks 
will  laugh  on  the  other  side  of  their  faces." 

Bishop  was  so  full  of  excitement  and  emotion  that 
he  dared  not  trust  his  voice  to  utterance.  He  leaned 
back  against  the  wall  and  closed  his  eyes,  pretending 
to  be  calm,  though  his  alert  wife  saw  that  he  was  quiv 
ering  in  every  limb. 

"Oh,  Alan,"  she  cried,  "don't  you  see  how  excited 
your  pa  is?  You  ought  not  to  raise  his  hopes  this 
way  on  such  an  uncertainty.  As  Mr.  Miller  said, 
there  may  be  some  slip  and  we'd  be  right  back  where 
we  was,  and  feel  wuss  than  ever." 

Bishop  rose  from  his  chair  and  began  to  walk  to 
and  fro  on  the  veranda.  "It  ain't  possible,"  they 
heard  him  saying.  "I  won't  git  out  as  easy  as  that 
—I  jest  cayn't!" 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  wrong  to  expect  too  much/' 
147 


Abner   Daniel 

said  Alan,  "  but  I  was  obliged  to  tell  you  what  we  are 
going  in  town  for  to-morrow." 

Bishop  wheeled  and  paused  before  them.  "  Ef  Wil 
son  puts  up  the  money  I'd  have  enough  to  lift  the 
mortgage  an'  a  clean  twenty  thousand  besides  to  put 
in  some  good  investment." 

Aunt  Maria,  the  colored  cook,  came  out  and  timidly 
announced  that  Alan's  supper  was  on  the  table,  but 
no  one  heard  her.  She  crossed  the  veranda  and  touch 
ed  the  young  man  on  the  shoulder. 

"Supper's  raidy,  Marse  Alan,"  she  said,  "en  it's 
gittin'  col'  ergin." 

He  rose  and  followed  her  into  the  dining-room  and 
sat  down  in  his  accustomed  place  at  the  long  table. 
When  he  had  eaten  he  went  back  to  the  group  on  the 
veranda. 

"I  think  I'll  go  up  to  bed,"  he  told  them.  "My 
ride  and  running  around  at  Darley  has  made  me  very 
tired.  Father,  get  all  your  papers  together  and  let's 
take  an  early  start  in  the  morning. " 

But  despite  his  feeling  of  weariness,  Alan  found 
he  could  not  sleep.  The  bright  moonlight,  streaming 
in  at  his  window,  seemed  a  disturbing  element.  About 
eleven  o'clock  he  heard  some  one  turning  the  windlass 
at  the  well,  and  later  the  clatter  of  falling  utensils  in 
the  kitchen,  and  the  dead  thump  of  a  heavy  tread  be 
low.  He  knew  then  that  his  father  was  up,  and,  like 
himself,  unable  to  sleep.  Presently  Mrs.  Bishop  slipped 
into  his  room. 

"Are  you  awake,  son?"  She  spoke  in  a  whisper 
that  she  might  not  disturb  him  if  he  were  asleep. 

He  laughed.  "I  haven't  closed  my  eyes;  it  seems 
to  me  I  have  gone  over  my  conversation  with  Miller 
a  thousand  times." 

"I've  give  up  tryin',"  she  told  him,  with  a  gratified 
little  laugh.  "I  think  I  could,  though,  if  your  pa 

148 


Abner   Daniel 

would  'a'  kept  still.  He's  in  the  kitchen  now  makin' 
him  a  cup  o'  strong  coffee.  He's  been  over  them  pa 
pers  ever  since  you  come  up-stairs.  Alan,  I'm  actu 
ally  afeerd  he  couldn't  stand  it  if  that  man  didn't  put 
up  the  money." 

"It  would  go  hard  with  him/'  said  Alan.  "Has 
Uncle  Ab  gone  to  sleep?" 

"No;  he's  settin'  in  the  door  o'  his  room  chawin' 
tobacco ;  he  lays  the  blame  on  yore  pa.  I  don't  think 
I  ever  saw  him  so  irritated  before.  But  nobody  ain't 
to  blame  but  hisse'f.  He's  jest  excited  like  the  rest 
of  us.  I've  seed  'im  lie  an'  snore  with  a  bigger  noise 
goin'  on  around  'im  'an  yore  pa  is  a-makin'." 


XIX 

Henry,  Aunt  Maria's  husband,  who  was 
I  the  chief  farm-hand,  was  busy  patching 
fences  the  next  morning,  Bishop  sent 
•  over  for  Pole  Baker  to  drive  the  spring- 
|  wagon.  Alan  sat  beside  Pole,  and  Ab- 
'ner  and  Bishop  and  Mrs.  Bishop  occu 
pied  the  rear  seats. 

Alan  knew  he  could  trust  Pole,  drunk  or  sober,  and 
he  confided  his  plans  to  the  flattered  fellow's  ears. 
Pole  seemed  to  weigh  all  the  chances  for  and  against 
success  in  his  mind  as  he  sat  listening,  a  most  grave 
and  portentous  expression  on  his  massive  face. 

"  My  opinion  is  the  feller  '11  be  thar  as  shore  as  preach- 
in',"  he  said.  "But  whether  you  git  his  wad  or  not, 
that's  another  question.  Miller's  as  sharp  as  a  briar, 
an',  as  he  says,  if  Wilson  gits  to  talkin'  about  that 
land  to  any  o'  these  hill-Billies  they'll  bu'st  the  trade 
or  die  tryin'.  Jest  let  'em  heer  money's  about  to 
change  hands  an'  it  '11  make  'em  so  durn  jealous 
they'll  swear  a  lie  to  keep  it  away  from  anybody 
they  know.  That's  human  natur'." 

"I  believe  you  are  right,"  said  Alan,  pulling  a  long 
face;  "and  I'm  afraid  Wilson  will  want  to  make  some 
inquiries  before  he  closes." 

"Like  as  not,"  opined  the  driver;  "but  what  I'd  do, 
ef  I  was  a-runnin'  it,  would  be  to  git  some  feller  to 
strike  up  with  'im  accidental-like,  an'  liter'ly  fill  'im 
to  the  neck  with  good  things  about  the  property  with 
out  him  ever  dreamin'  he  was  bein'  worked." 

150 


Abner  Daniel 

The  two  exchanged  glances.  Alan  had  never  looked 
at  the  man  so  admiringly.  At  that  moment  he  seemed 
a  giant  of  shrewdness,  as  well  as  that  of  physical 
strength. 

"I  believe  you  are  right,  Pole/'  he  said,  thought- 
fully. 

"That's  what  I  am,  an',  what's  more,  I'm  the  one 
that  could  do  the  fillin',  without  him  ever  knowin'  I 
had  a  funnel  in  his  mouth.  If  I  can't  do  it,  I'll  fill 
my  hat  with  saft  mud  an'  put  it  on/ 

Alan  smiled  warmly.  "Til  mention  it  to  Miller/' 
he  said.  "  Yes,  you  could  do  it,  Pole — if  any  man  on 
earth  could." 

Driving  up  to  Miller's  office  they  found  the  door  open, 
and  the  owner  came  out  with  a  warm  smile  of  greeting 
and  aided  Mrs.  Bishop  to  alight.  "Well,"  he  smiled, 
when  they  had  taken  seats  in  the  office.  "We  have 
gained  the  first  step  towards  victory.  Wilson  is  at 
the  hotel.  I  saw  his  name  on  the  register  this  morn 
ing/' 

The  elder  Bishops  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  The 
old  man  grounded  his  heavy  walking-stick  suddenly, 
as  if  it  had  slipped  through  his  inert  fingers. 

"I'm  trustin'  you  boys  to  pull  me  through,"  he 
said,  with  a  shaky  laugh.  "I  hain't  never  treated 
Alan  right,  an'  I'm  heer  to  confess  it.  I  'lowed  I  was 
the  only  one  in  our  layout  with  any  business  sense." 

"So  you  are  willing  to  accept  the  loan?"  said  Miller. 

"Willin'?  I  reckon  I  am.  I  never  slept  one  wink 
last  night  fer  feer  some'n'  '11  interfere  with  it." 

Miller  reflected  a  moment  and  then  said :  "  I  am 
afraid  of  only  one  thing,  and  that  is  this  :  Not  one 
man  in  a  million  will  make  a  trade  of  this  size  with 
out  corroborating  the  statements  made  by  the  people 
he  is  dealing  with.  Wilson  is  at  breakfast  by  this 
time.,  and  after  he  is  through  he  may  decide  to  nose 

151 


Abner   Daniel 

around  a  little  before  coming  to  me.  I'm  afraid  to  go 
after  him;  he  would  think  I  was  over-anxious.  The 
trouble  is  that  he  may  run  upon  somebody  from  out 
in  the  mountains — there  are  a  lot  in  town  already — 
and  get  to  talking.  Just  one  word  about  your  biting 
off  more  than  you  can  chaw,  Mr.  Bishop,  would  make 
'im  balk  like  a  mean  mule.  He  thinks  I'm  favoring 
him  now,  but  let  him  get  the  notion  that  you  haven't 
been  holding  that  land  for  at  least  a  hundred  thousand 
an'  the  thing  would  bu'st  like  a  bubble." 

Alan  mentioned  Pole  Baker's  proposition.  Miller 
thought  it  over  for  a  moment,  his  brow  wrinkled,  and 
then  he  said:  "Good! — a  good  idea,  but  you  must 
call  Pole  in  and  let  me  give  him  a  few  pointers.  By 
George!  he  could  keep  Wilson  away  from  dangerous 
people  anyway." 

Alan  went  after  Pole,  and  Miller  took  him  into  his 
consultation-room  in  the  rear,  where  they  remained  for 
about  fifteen  minutes.  When  they  came  out  Pole's 
face  was  very  grave.  "I  won't  forget  a  thing,"  he 
said  to  Miller.  "  I  understand  exactly  what  you  want. 
When  I  git  through  with  'im  he'll  want  that  land  bad 
enough  to  pay  anything  fer  it,  an'  he  won't  dream  I'm 
in  cahoot  with  you,  nuther.  I  can  manage  that.  I 
ain't  no  fool  ef  I  do  have  fits." 

"Do  you  remember  my  description  of  him?"  asked 
Miller. 

"  You  bet  I  do — thick-set,  about  fifty,  bald,  red-faced, 
sharp,  black  eyes,  iron  gray  hair,  an'  mighty  nigh 
always  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth." 

"That's  right,"  laughed  Miller,  "now  do  your  work, 
and  we  won't  forget  you.  By  all  means  keep  him 
away  from  meddlesome  people." 

When  Pole  had  left  the  office  and  Miller  had  resumed 
his  revolving-chair  Mrs.  Bishop  addressed  him,  looking 
straight  into  his  eyes. 

152 


Abner   Daniel 

"I  don't  see/'  she  said,  in  a  timid,  hesitating  way, 
and  yet  with  a  note  of  firmness  dominating  her  tone — 
"  I  don't  see  why  we  have  to  go  through  all  this  trickery 
to  make  the  trade.  Ef  the  land  is  good  security  fer 
the  money  we  needn't  be  afeerd  of  what  the  man  will 
find  out.  Ef  it  ain't  good  security  I  don't  want  his 
money  as  fer  as  I'm  concerned." 

"I  was  jest  thinkin'  that,  too,"  chimed  in  her  hus 
band,  throwing  a  troubled  glance  all  round.  "  I  want 
money  to  help  me  out  o'  my  scrape,  but  I  don't  want 
to  trick  no  man,  Yankee  or  what  not,  into  toatin'  my 
loads.  As  Betsy  says,  it  seems  to  me  if  the  land's 
wuth  the  money  we  needn't  make  such  a  great  to-do. 
I'm  afeerd  I  won't  feel  exactly  right  about  it." 

The  young  men  exchanged  alarmed  glances. 

"You  don't  understand,"  said  Miller,  lamely,  but 
he  seemed  to  be  unprepared  for  views  so  heretical  to 
financial  dealings,  and  could  not  finish  what  he  had 
started  to  say. 

"Why,"  said  Alan,  testily,  "the  land  is  worth  all 
Wilson  can  make  out  of  it  with  the  aid  of  his  capital 
and  the  railroad  he  proposes  to  lay  here.  Father,  you 
have  spent  several  years  looking  up  the  best  timbered 
properties,  and  getting  good  titles  to  it,  and  to  a  big 
lumber  company  a  body  of  timber  like  you  hold  is  no 
small  tiling.  We  don't  want  to  cheat  him,  but  we  do 
want  to  keep  him  from  trying  to  cheat  us  by  getting 
the  upper  hand.  Rayburn  thinks  if  he  finds  out  we 
are  hard  up  he'll  try  to  squeeze  us  to  the  lowest  notch." 

"Well,"  sighed  Mrs.  Bishop,  "I'm  shore  I  never 
had  no  idea  we'd  resort  to  gittin'  Pole  Baker  to  tole 
anybody  around  like  a  hog  after  a  yeer  o'  corn.  I 
'lowed  we  was  going  to  make  a  open-and-shut  trade 
that  we  could  be  proud  of,  an'  stop  folk's  mouths  about 
Alfred's  foolish  dealin's.  But,"  she  looked  at  Abner, 
who  stood  in  the  doorway  leading  to  the  consultation- 

153 


Abner  Daniel 

room,  "I'll  do  whatever  brother  Ab  thinks  is  right. 
I  never  knowed  'im  to  take  undue  advantage  of  any 
body." 

They  all  looked  at  Abner,  who  was  smiling  broadly. 

"  Well,  I  say  git  his  money,"  he  replied,  with  a  short, 
impulsive  laugh — "  git  his  money,  and  then  ef  you  find 
he's  starvin',  hand  'im  back  what  you  feel  you  don't 
need.  I  look  on  a  thing  like  this  sorter  like  I  did  on 
scramblin'  fer  the  upper  holt  in  war-times.  I  remember 
I  shot  straight  at  a  feller  that  was  climbin'  up  the 
enemy's  breastworks  on  his  all-fours.  I  said  to  myse'f , 
ef  this  ball  strikes  you  right,  old  chap,  'fore  you  drap 
over  the  bank,  yo're  one  less  agin  the  Confederacy ;  ef 
it  don't  you  kin  pop  away  at  me.  I  don't  think  I  give 
'im  anything  but  a  flesh-wound  in  the  back — beca'se 
he  jest  sagged  down  a  little  an'  crawled  on — an'  that's 
about  the  wust  you  could  do  fer  Wilson.  I  believe  he 
ort  to  hold  the  bag  awhile.  Alf 's  hung  on  to  it  till  his 
fingers  ache  an'  he's  weak  at  the  knees.  I  never  did 
feel  like  thar  was  any  harm  in  passin'  a  counterfeit  bill 
that  some  other  chap  passed  on  me.  Ef  the  govern 
ment,  with  all  its  high-paid  help,  cayn't  keep  crooked 
shinplasters  from  slidin'  under  our  noses,  it  ortn't  to 
kick  agin  our  lookin'  out  fer  ourse'ves." 

"You  needn't  lose  any  sleep  about  the  Southern 
Land  and  Timber  Company,  Mrs.  Bishop,"  said  Miller. 
"  They  will  take  care  of  themselves — in  fact,  we'll  have 
to  keep  our  eyes  peeled  to  watch  them  even  if  we 
get  this  loan.  Wilson  didn't  come  up  here  for  his 
health." 

"Oh,  mother's  all  right,"  said  Alan,  "and  so  is 
father,  but  they  must  not  chip  in  with  that  sort  of  talk 
before  Wilson." 

"Oh  no,  you  mustn't,"  said  Miller.  "In  fact,  I 
think  you'd  better  let  me  and  Alan  do  the  talking. 
You  see,  if  you  sit  perfectly  quiet  he'll  think  you  are 

154 


Abner   Daniel 

reluctant  about  giving  such  big  security  for  such  a 
small  amount  of  money,  and  he  will  trade  faster." 

"Oh,  I'm  perfectly  willin'  to  keep  quiet,"  agreed 
the  old  man,  who  now  seemed  better  satisfied. 

Pole  Baker  left  the  office  with  long,  swinging  strides. 
There  was  an  entrance  to  the  Johnston  House  through 
a  long  corridor  opening  on  the  street,  and  into  this 
Pole  slouched.  The  hotel  office  was  empty  save  for 
the  clerk  who  stood  behind  the  counter,  looking  over 
the  letters  in  the  pigeon-holed  key-rack  on  the  wall. 
There  was  a  big  gong  overhead  which  was  rung  by 
pulling  a  cord.  It  was  used  for  announcing  meals 
and  calling  the  porter.  A  big  china  bowl  on  the  counter 
was  filled  with  wooden  tooth-picks,  and  there  was  a 
show-case  containing  cigars.  Pole  glanced  about 
cautiously  without  being  noticed  by  the  clerk,  and 
then  withdrew  into  the  corridor,  where  he  stood  for 
several  minutes,  listening.  Presently  the  dining-room 
door  opened  and  Wilson  strolled  out  and  walked  up  to 
the  counter. 

"What  sort  of  cigars  have  you  got?"  he  said  to  the 
clerk. 

"Nothing  better  than  ten,  three  for  a  quarter," 
was  the  respectful  reply,  as  the  clerk  recognized  the 
man  who  had  asked  for  the  best  room  in  the  house. 

Wilson  thrust  his  fingers  into  his  vest-pocket  and 
drew  out  a  cigar.  "  I  guess  I  can  make  what  I  have  last 
me,"  he  said,  transferring  his  glance  to  Pole  Baker, 
who  had  shambled  across  the  room  and  leaned  heavily 
over  the  open  register.  "  Want  to  buy  any  chickins — 
fine  fryin'  size?"  he  asked  the  clerk. 

"Well,  we  are  in  the  market,"  was  the  answer. 
"Where  are  they?" 

"I  didn't  fetch  'em  in  to-day,"  said  Pole,  dryly.  "I 
never  do  till  I  know  what  they  are  a-bringin'.  You'd 
better  make  a  bid  on  a  dozen  of  'em  anyway.  They 

155 


Abner   Daniel 

are  the  finest  ever  raised  on  Upper  Holly  Creek,  jest 
this  side  o'  whar  old  man  Bishop's  lumber  paradise 
begins." 

Pole  was  looking  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  at  the 
stranger,  and  saw  his  hand,  which  was  in  the  act  of 
striking  a  match,  suddenly  stay  itself. 

"We  don't  bid  on  produce  till  we  see  it,"  said  the 
clerk. 

"Well,  I  reckon  no  harm  was  done  by  my  axin'," 
said  Pole,  who  felt  the  eyes  of  the  stranger  on  him. 

"Do  you  live  near  here?"  asked  Wilson,  with  a 
smile  half  of  apology  at  addressing  a  stranger,  even 
of  Pole's  humble  stamp. 

"No."  Pole  laughed  and  waved  his  hand  towards 
the  mountains  in  the  west,  which  were  plainly  dis 
cernible  in  the  clear  morning  light.  "  No,  I'm  a  moun 
tain  shanghai.  I  reckon  it's  fifteen  mile  on  a  bee-line 
to  my  shack." 

"Didn't  you  say  you  lived  near  old  Mr.  Bishop's 
place?"  asked  Wilson,  moving  towards  the  open  door 
which  led  to  the  veranda. 

"I  don't  know  which  place  o'  his'n  you  mean," 
said  Pole  when  they  were  alone  outside  and  Wilson 
had  lighted  his  cigar.  "That  old  scamp  owns  the 
whole  o'  creation  out  our  way.  Well,  I'll  take  that 
back,  fer  he  don't  own  any  land  that  hain't  loaded  down 
with  trees,  but  he's  got  territory  enough.  Some  thinks 
he's  goin'  to  seceed  from  the  United  States  an'  elect 
himself  President  of  his  own  country." 

Wilson  laughed,  and  then  he  said:  "Have  you 
got  a  few  minutes  to  spare?" 

"  I  reckon  I  have,"  said  Pole,  "  ef  you've  got  the  mate 
to  that  cigar." 

Wilson  laughed  again  as  he  fished  the  desired  article 
from  his  pocket  and  gave  it  and  a  match  to  Pole. 
Then  he  leaned  against  the  heavy  railing  of  the  ban- 

156 


Abner  Daniel 

isters.  "  I  may  as  well  tell  you,"  he  said,  "I'm  a  dealer 
in  lumber  myself,  and  I'd  like  to  know  what  kind  of 
timber  you  have  out  there." 

Pole  pulled  at  the  cigar,  thrust  it  well  into  the  corner 
of  his  mouth  with  the  fire  end  smoking  very  near  his 
left  eye,  and  looked  thoughtful.  "To  tell  you  the 
truth,  my  friend,"  he  said,  "I  railly  believe  you'd 
be  wastin'  time  to  go  over  thar." 

"Oh,  you  think  so."  It  was  a  vocal  start  on  the  part 
of  Wilson. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  the  truth  is,  old  man  Bishop  has  simply 
raked  into  his  dern  clutch  ever'  acre  o'  fine  timber  out 
that  away.  Now  ef  you  went  east,  over  t'other  side 
o'  the  mountains,  you  mought  pick  out  some  good 
timber;  but  as  I  said,  old  man  Bishop's  got  it  all  in 
a  bag  out  our  way.  Saw-mill?" 

"No,  I  don't  run  a  saw-mill,"  said  Wilson,  with  an 
avaricious  sparkle  in  his  eye.  "I  sometimes  buy 
timbered  lands  for  a  speculation,  that's  all." 

Pole  laughed.  "I  didn't  see  how  you  could  be  a 
saw-mill  man  an'  smoke  cigars  like  this  an'  wear  them 
clothes.  I  never  knowed  a  saw -mill  man  to  make 
any  money." 

"  I  suppose  this  Mr.  Bishop  is  buying  to  sell  again," 
said  Wilson,  tentatively.  "  People  generally  have  some 
such  idea  when  they  put  money  into  such  property." 

Pole  looked  wise  and  thoughtful.  "I  don't  know 
whether  he  is  or  not,"  he  said.  "  But  my  opinion  is 
that  he'll  hold  on  to  it  till  he's  in  the  ground.  He  evi 
dently  thinks  a  good  time's  a-comin'!  Thar  was  a 
feller  out  thar  t'other  day  with  money  to  throw  at  cats  ; 
he's  been  tryin'  to  honeyfuggle  the  old  man  into  a 
trade,  but  I  don't  think  he  made  a  deal  with  'im." 

"  Where  was  the  man  from?"  Wilson  spoke  uneasily. 

"I  don't  railly  know,  but  he  ain't  a-goin'  to  give  up. 
He  told  Neil  Fulmore  at  his  store  that  he  was  goin' 


Abner   Daniel 

home  to  see  his  company  an'  write  the  old  man  a 
proposition  that  ud  fetch  'im  ef  thar  was  any  trade 
in  'im." 

Wilson  pulled  out  his  watch. 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  where  Mr.  Rayburn  Miller's 
law  office  is?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes ;  it's  right  round  the  corner.  I  know  whar 
all  the  white  men  in  this  town  do  business,  an'  he's  as 
white  as  they  make  'em,  an'  as  straight  as  a  shingle." 

"He's  an  acquaintance  of  mine,"  said  Wilson.  "I 
thought  I'd  run  in  and  see  him  before  I  leave." 

"It's  right  round  the  corner,  an'  down  the  fust  side 
street,  towards  the  court-house.  I  'ain't  got  nothin' 
to  do;  I'll  p'int  it  out." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Wilson,  and  they  went  out  of 
the  house  and  down  the  street  together,  Pole  puffing 
vigorously  at  his  cigar  in  the  brisk  breeze. 

"Thar  you  are,"  said  Pole,  pointing  to  Miller's  sign. 
"Good-day,  sir;  much  obleeged  fer  this  smoke,"  and 
with  his  head  in  the  air  Pole  walked  past  the  office 
without  looking  in. 

"Good- morning,"  exclaimed  Miller,  as  Wilson  en 
tered.  "  You  are  not  an  early  riser  like  we  are  here 
in  the  country."  He  introduced  Wilson  all  round, 
and  then  gave  him  a  chair  near  his  desk  and  facing 
him  rather  than  the  others. 

"This  is  the  gentleman  who  owns  the  property,  I 
believe,"  said  Wilson,  suavely,  as  he  indicated  Bishop. 

Miller  nodded,  and  a  look  of  cunning  dawned  in 
his  clear  eye. 

"  Yes.  I  have  just  been  explaining  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bishop  that  the  mere  signing  of  a  paper  such  as  will 
be  necessary  to  secure  the  loan  will  not  bind  them  at 
all  in  the  handling  of  their  property.  You  know  how 
cautious  older  people  are  nowadays  in  regard  to  legal 
matters.  Now,  Alan  here,  their  son,  understands  the 

158 


Abner    Daniel 

matter  thoroughly,  and  his  mind  is  not  at  all  dis 
turbed." 

Wilson  fell  into  the  preliminary  trap.  "Oh  no; 
it's  not  a  binding  thing  at  all/'  he  said.  "The  pay 
ment  of  the  money  back  to  us  releases  you — that  is, 
of  course/'  Wilson  recovered  himself,  "if  we  make  the 
loan." 

Several  hearts  in  the  room  sank,  but  Miller's  face 
did  not  alter  in  the  slightest.  "Oh,  of  course,  if  the 
loan  is  made,"  he  said. 

Wilson  put  his  silk  hat  on  the  top  of  Miller's  desk, 
and  flicked  the  ashes  from  his  cigar  into  a  cuspidor. 
Then  he  looked  at  Mrs.  Bishop  suddenly — "Does  the 
lady  object  to  smoking?" 

"Not  at  all,"  said  the  old  lady— "not  at  all." 

There  was  a  pause  as  Wilson  relighted  his  cigar 
and  pulled  at  it  in  silence.  A  step  sounded  on  the 
sidewalk  and  Trabue  put  his  head  in  at  the  door.  Miller 
could  have  sworn  at  him,  but  he  smiled.  "  Good-morn 
ing,  Squire,"  he  said. 

"  I  see  you  are  busy,"  said  the  intruder,  hastily. 

"  Just  a  little,  Squire.    I'll  see  you  in  a  few  minutes. " 

"Oh,  all  right."  The  old  lawyer  moved  on  down  the 
sidewalk,  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

Miller  brought  up  the  subject  again  with  easy  adroit 
ness.  "  I  mentioned  your  proposition  to  my  clients — the 
proposition  that  they  allow  you  the  refusal  of  the  land 
at  one  hundred  thousand,  and  they  have  finally  come 
round  to  it.  As  I  told  them,  they  could  not  possibly 
market  a  thing  like  that  as  easily  and  for  as  good  a 
price  as  a  company  regularly  in  the  business.  I  may 
have  been  wrong  in  giving  such  advice,  but  it  was 
the  way  I  felt  about  it." 

Without  realizing  it,  Wilson  tripped  in  another  hole 
dug  by  Miller's  inventive  mind. 

"They  couldn't  do  half  as  well  with  it,"  the  Boston 
J59 


Abner   Daniel 

man  said.  "  In  fact,  no  one  could,  as  I  told  you,  pay 
as  much  for  the  property  as  we  can,  considering  the 
railroad  we  have  to  move  somewhere,  and  our  gigantic 
facilities  for  handling  lumber  in  America  and  abroad. 
Still  I  think,  and  our  directors  think,  a  hundred  thou 
sand  is  a  big  price." 

Miller  laughed  as  if  amused.  "That's  five  dollars 
an  acre,  you  know,  but  I'm  not  here  to  boom  Mr. 
Bishop's  timber-land.  In  fact,  all  this  has  grown  out 
of  my  going  down  to  Atlanta  to  borrow  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars  on  the  property.  I  think  I  would 
have  saved  time  if  I  hadn't  run  on  you  down  there, 
Mr.  Wilson." 

Wilson  frowned  and  looked  at  his  cigar. 

"We  are  willing,"  said  he,  "to  make  the  loan  at 
five  per  cent,  per  annum  on  two  conditions." 

"  Well,  out  with  them,"  laughed  Miller.  "  What  are 
they?" 

"First,"  said  Wilson,  slowly  and  methodically,  "we 
want  the  refusal  of  the  property  at  one  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars." 

A  thrill  of  triumph  passed  over  the  silent  group. 
Alan  saw  his  father's  face  fill  with  sudden  hope,  and 
then  it  seemed  to  stand  in  abeyance  as  if  doubt  had 
already  mastered  it.  Abner  Daniel  caught  his  beard 
in  his  stiff  fingers  and  slowly  slid  them  downward. 
Mrs.  Bishop's  bonnet  hid  her  face,  but  her  fingers 
were  twitching  excitedly  as  they  toyed  with  the  fringe 
of  her  shawl. 

Miller's  indifference  was  surprising.  "For  what 
length  of  time  do  you  want  the  refusal  of  the  property 
at  that  figure?"  he  asked,  almost  in  a  tone  of  contempt. 

Wilson  hung  fire,  his  brow  wrinkled  thoughtfully. 

"Till  it  is  decided  positively,"  he  got  out  finally, 
"whether  we  can  get  a  charter  and  a  right  of  way 
to  the  property." 

160 


Abner   Daniel 

To  those  who  were  not  following  the  details  as  close 
ly  as  were  Alan  and  Miller  the  reply  of  the  latter  fell 
discouragingly,  even  Abner  Daniel  glared  in  open 
horror  of  what  he  regarded  as  an  unfavorable  turn 
in  the  proceedings. 

"That's  entirely  too  indefinite  to  suit  my  clients/' 
said  the  lawyer.  "  Do  you  suppose,  Mr.  Wilson,  that 
they  want  to  hang  their  property  up  on  a  hook  like 
that?  Why,  if  you  didn't  attend  to  pushing  your  road 
through — well,  they  would  simply  be  in  your  hands, 
the  Lord  only  knows  how  long." 

"  But  we  intend  to  do  all  we  can  to  shove  it  through," 
said  Wilson,  with  a  flush. 

"You  know  that  is  not  a  business-like  proposition, 
Mr.  Wilson/'  said  Miller,  with  a  bland  smile.  "  Why, 
it  amounts  to  an  option  without  any  limit  at  all." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Wilson,  lamely.  "Mr. 
Bishop  will  be  interested  just  as  we  are  in  getting  a 
right  of  way  through — in  fact,  it  would  insure  us  of 
his  help.  We  can't  buy  a  right  of  way;  we  can't  af 
ford  it.  The  citizens  through  whose  property  the  road 
runs  must  be  persuaded  to  contribute  the  land  for  the 
purpose,  and  Mr.  Bishop,  of  course,  has  influence  up 
here  with  his  neighbors." 

"Still  he  would  be  very  imprudent,"  said  Miller, 
"to  option  his  property  without  any  limit.  Now 
here's  what  we  are  willing  to  do.  As  long  as  you  hold 
Mr.  Bishop's  note  for  twenty-five  thousand  dollars 
unpaid,  you  shall  have  the  refusal  of  the  land  at  one 
hundred  thousand  dollars.  Now  take  my  advice" — 
Miller  was  smiling  broadly — "let  it  stand  at  that." 

Wilson  reflected  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  said : 
"  All  right ;  let  that  go.  The  other  condition  is  this — 
and  it  need  be  only  a  verbal  promise — that  nothing  be 
said  about  my  company's  making  this  loan  nor  our 
securing  the  refusal  of  the  property." 
»  161 


Abner   Daniel 

"That  will  suit  us,"  said  Miller.  "Mr.  Bishop 
doesn't  care  to  have  the  public  know  his  business. 
Of  course,  the  mortgage  will  have  to  be  recorded  at 
the  court-house,  but  that  need  not  attract  attention. 
I  don't  blame  Mr.  Bishop,"  went  on  Miller,  in  a  half- 
confidential  tone.  "  These  people  are  the  worst  gossips 
you  ever  saw.  If  you  meet  any  of  them  they  will 
tell  you  that  Mr.  Bishop  has  bu'sted  himself  wide  open 
by  buying  so  much  timber-land,  but  this  loan  will 
make  him  as  solid  as  the  Bank  of  England.  The 
people  don't  understand  his  dealings,  and  they  are 
trying  to  take  it  out  on  him  by  blasting  his  reputation 
for  being  one  of  the  solidest  men  in  his  county." 

"Well,  that's  all,  I  believe,"  said  Wilson,  and  Miller 
drew  a  blank  sheet  of  legal-cap  paper  to  him  and  began 
to  write.  Half  an  hour  later  the  papers  were  signed 
and  Miller  carelessly  handed  Wilson's  crisp  pink  check 
on  a  New  York  bank  to  Mr.  Bishop. 

"There  you  are,  Mr.  Bishop,"  he  said,  with  a  smile; 
"you  didn't  want  any  one  else  to  have  a  finger  in  that 
big  pie  of  yours  over  there,  but  you  needed  money, 
and  I'll  tell  you  as  a  friend  that  a  hundred  thousand 
cash  down  will  be  about  as  well  as  you  can  do  with 
that  land.  It  takes  money,  and  lots  of  it,  to  make 
money,  and  Mr.  Wilson's  company  can  move  the  thing 
faster  than  you  can." 

"  That's  a  fact,"  said  Wilson,  in  a  tone  that  betrayed 
self-gratification.  "  Now  we  must  all  pull  together  for 
the  railroad."  He  rose  and  turned  to  Miller.  "Will 
you  come  with  me  to  record  the  paper?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Miller,  and  they  both  left  together. 

The  Bishop  family  were  left  alone,  and  the  strain 
being  lifted,  they  found  themselves  almost  wholly  ex 
hausted. 

"Is  it  all  over?"  gasped  the  old  woman,  standing 
up  and  grasping  her  son's  arm. 

162 


Abner   Daniel 

"We've  got  his  money,"  Alan  told  her,  with  a  glad 
smile,  "and  a  fair  chance  for  more." 

The  pink  check  was  fluttering  in  old  Bishop's  hand. 
Already  the  old  self-willed  look  that  brooked  no  in 
terference  with  his  personal  affairs  was  returning  to 
his  wrinkled  face. 

"I'll  go  over  to  Craig's  bank  an'  deposit  it,"  he  said 
to  Alan.  "  It  '11  take  a  day  or  two  to  collect  it,  but 
he'd  let  me  check  on  it  right  now  fer  any  reasonable 
amount." 

"I  believe  I'd  ask  him  not  to  mention  the  deposit," 
suggested  Alan. 

"Huh!    I  reckon  I've  got  sense  enough  to  do  that." 

"I  thought  you  intended  to  pay  off  the  mortgage 
on  our  farm  the  fust  thing,"  ventured  Mrs.  Bishop. 

"We  can't  do  it  till  the  note's  due  next  January," 
said  Bishop,  shortly.  "I  agreed  to  keep  the  money 
a  yeer,  an'  Martin  Doe  '11  make  me  hold  to  it.  But 
what  do  you  reckon  I  care  as  long  as  I've  got  some'n' 
to  meet  it  with?" 

Mrs.  Bishop's  face  fell.  "I'd  feel  better  about  it 
if  it  was  cleer,"  she  faltered.  "But  the  Lord  knows 
we  ort  to  feel  thankful  to  come  out  as  we  have.  If  it 
hadn't  been  fer  Alan — Mr.  Miller  said  that  Alan — " 

"Ef  you  all  hadn't  made  sech  a  eternal  row,"  broke 
in  Bishop,  testily,  "I'd  'a'  had  more  timber-land  than 
this.  Colonel  Barclay  has  as  fine  a  strip  as  any  I  got, 
an'  he's  bantered  me  for  a  trade  time  an'  agin." 

Abner  Daniel  seldom  sneered  at  anybody,  no  matter 
what  the  provocation  was,  but  it  seemed  impossible  for 
him  to  refrain  from  it  now. 

"  You  've  been  lookin'  fer  the  last  three  months  like 
a  man  that  needed  more  land,"  he  said.  "Jest  no 
furder  back  'an  last  night  you  'lowed  ef  you  could  git 
enough  fer  yore  folly  to  raise  the  debt  off'n  yore  farm 
you'd  die  happy,  an'  now  yo're  a-frettin'  beca'se  you 

163 


Abner    Daniel 

didn't  buy  up  the  sides  o'  the  earth  an'  give  nobody  else 
a  foothold.  Le'  me  tell  you  the  truth,  even  ef  it  does 
hurt  a  little.  Ef  Alan  hadn't  thought  o'  this  heer  rail 
road  idea,  you'd  'a'  been  the  biggest  human  pancake 
that  ever  lay  flat  in  its  own  grease." 

"I  hain't  said  nothin'  to  the  contrary,"  admitted 
Bishop,  who  really  took  the  reproof  well.  "Alan 
knows  what  I  think  about  it." 

Then  Bishop  and  his  wife  went  to  Craig's  bank, 
and  a  moment  later  Miller  returned,  rubbing  his  hands 
with  satisfaction. 

"We  got  through,  and  he's  gone  to  catch  his  train," 
he  said. 

"It  worked  as  smooth  as  goose-grease.  I  wonder 
what  Pole  Baker  said  to  him,  or  if  he  saw  him.  I 
have  an  idea  he  did,  from  the  way  Wilson  danced  to 
our  music." 

"Heer's  Pole  now,"  said  Abner,  from  the  door. 
"  Come  in  heer,  you  triflin'  loafer,  an'  give  an  account 
o'  yorese'f." 

"I  seed  'im  makin'  fer  the  train,"  laughed  Pole, 
"an'  so  I  sneaked  in  to  see  what  you-uns  done.  He 
walked  like  he  owned  the  town." 

"It  went  through  like  lightning,  without  a  hitch 
or  a  bobble,"  Abner  told  him.  "We  was  jest  a-won- 
derin'  what  you  shot  into  'im." 

"I  hardly  know,"  Pole  sniggered.  "I  got  to  talkin' 
to  'im  an'  it  looked  to  me  like  I  was  chippin'  off  tan- 
bark  with  the  sharpest  tool  I  ever  handled.  Every 
lick  seemed  to  draw  blood,  an'  he  stood  an'  tuck  it  with 
out  a  start  or  a  shiver.  I  said  to  myse'f :  '  Pole  Baker, 
yo're  nothin'  but  a  rag-tag,  bob-tail  mountain  Hoosier, 
an'  he's  a  slick  duck  from  up  North,  with  a  gold  watch- 
chain  an'  a  silk  beaver,  but  he's  a  lappin'  up  what 
you  say  like  a  hungry  kitten  does  a  pan  o'  milk.  Go 
it,  old  boy,  an'  ef  you  win,  you'll  he'p  the  finest  man 

164 


Abner   Daniel 

out  o'  trouble — I  mean  Alan  Bishop,  by  gum — that 
ever  lived/  It  seemed  to  me  I  was  filled  with  the  fire 
of  heaven.  I  could  'a.'  been  at  it  yet — fer  I'd  jest  started 
— but  he  drawed  his  watch  on  me,  an'  made  a  shoot  fer 
this  office,  me  with  'im,  fer  feer  some  yokel  would  strike 
up  with  'im.  I  mighty  nigh  shoved  'im  in  at  the  door." 

"You  did  noble,"  said  Miller,  while  Pole  and  Alan 
were  silently  clasping  hands.  "Now  I  told  you  we 
wouldn't  forget  you.  Go  down  to  Wimbley's  and 
tell  him  to  give  you  the  best  suit  of  clothes  he's  got, 
and  to  charge  them  to  me  'n'  Alan." 

Pole  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  and  stared 
at  the  lawyer  with  flashing  eyes. 

"Damn  yore  soul,"  he  said;  "don't  you  say  a  thing 
like  that  to  me  agin.  I'll  have  you  know  I've  got 
feelin's  as  well  as  you  or  anybody  else.  I'd  cut  off 
this  right  arm  an'  never  wince  to  do  Alan  Bishop  a 
favor,  but  I'll  be  danged  ef  anybody  kin  look  me  over 
after  I've  done  a  little  one  an'  pay  me  for  it  in  store- 
clothes.  I  don't  like  that  one  bit,  an'  I  ain't  afeerd 
to  say  so." 

"  I  didn't  mean  any  offence,  Pole,"  apologized  Miller, 
most  humbly. 

"  Well,  you  wouldn't  'a'  said  it  to  some  men,"  growled 
Pole,  "I  know  that.  When  I  want  pay  fer  a  thing 
like  that,  I'll  jest  go  to  that  corner  o'  the  street  an' 
look  down  at  that  rock-pile,  whar  Alan  found  me  one 
day  an'  paid  me  out  jest  to  keep  me  from  bein'  the 
laughin '-stock  o'  this  town." 

Alan  put  his  arm  over  his  shoulder.  "Rayburn 
didn't  mean  any  harm,"  he  said,  gently.  "You  are 
both  my  friends,  and  we've  had  a  big  victory  to-day; 
let's  not  have  hard  feelings." 

Pole  hung  his  head  stubbornly  and  Miller  extended 
his  hand.  Abner  Daniel  was  an  attentive  listener, 
a  half  smile  on  his  face. 

165 


Abner   Daniel 

"Say,  Pole/'  he  said,  with  a  little  laugh,  "you  run 
down  to  Wimbley's  an'  tell  'im  not  to  wrop  up  that 
suit.  I'm  a-owin'  him  a  bill,  an'  he  kin  jest  credit 
the  value  of  it  on  my  account." 

Pole  laughed  heartily  and  thrust  his  big  hand  into 
Miller's. 

"Uncle  Ab,"  he  said,  "you'd  make  a  dog  laugh." 

"I  believe  yo're  right,"  said  Abner,  significantly, 
and  then  they  all  roared  at  Pole's  expense. 

The  next  day  Alan  received  the  following  letter 
from  Dolly  Barclay: 

"DEAR  ALAN, — Rayburn  Miller  told  me  in  confidence  of  your 
wonderful  success  yesterday,  and  I  simply  cried  with  joy.  I 
knew — I  felt  that  you  would  win,  and  this  is,  as  he  says,  a  glorious 
beginning.  I  am  so  proud  of  you,  and  I  am  so  full  of  hope  to-day. 
All  our  troubles  will  come  out  right  some  day,  and  now  that  I 
know  you  love  me  I  can  wait.  Rayburn  would  not  have  con 
fided  so  much  to  me,  but  he  said,  while  he  would  not  let  me  tell 
father  anything  about  the  prospective  railroad,  he  wanted  me 
to  prevent  him  from  selling  his  tract  of  land  near  yours.  You 
know  my  father  consults  me  about  all  his  business,  and  he  will 
not  dispose  of  that  property  without  my  knowing  of  it.  Oh, 
wouldn't  it  be  a  fine  joke  on  him  to  have  him  profit  by  your  good 
judgment. 

Alan  was  at  the  little  post-office  in  Filmore's  store 
when  he  received  the  letter,  and  he  folded  it  and  restored 
it  to  its  envelope  with  a  heart  filled  with  love  and  ten 
derness.  As  he  walked  home  through  the  woods,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  everything  in  nature  was  minis 
tering  to  his  boundless  happiness.  He  felt  as  light 
as  air  as  he  strode  along.  "God  bless  her  dear,  dear 
little  soul  I"  he  said,  fervently. 


XX 

fBOUT  a  week  after  this  transaction 
Rayburn  Miller  went  to  Atlanta  on 
business  for  one  of  his  clients,  and 
while  there  he  incidentally  called  at  the 
offices  of  the  Southern  Land  and  Tim 
ber  Company,  hoping  to  meet  Wilson 
and  learn  something  about  his  immediate  plans  in  re 
gard  to  the  new  railroad.  But  he  was  informed  that 
the  president  of  the  company  had  just  gone  to  New 
York,  and  would  not  be  back  for  a  week. 

Rayburn  was  waiting  in  the  rotunda  of  the  Kimball 
House  for  his  train,  which  left  at  ten  o'clock,  when 
he  ran  across  his  friend,  Captain  Ralph  Burton,  of 
the  Gate  City  Guards,  a  local  military  company. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,"  said  the  young  officer.  "  Did  you 
run  up  for  the  ball?" 

"What  ball  is  that?"  asked  Miller.  "I  am  at  the 
first  of  it." 

"Oh,  we  are  giving  one  here  in  this  house  to 
night,"  answered  Burton,  who  was  a  handsome  man 
of  thirty-five,  tall  and  erect,  and  appeared  at  his  best 
in  his  close-fitting  evening -suit  and  light  overcoat. 
"Come  up -stairs  and  I'll  introduce  you  to  a  lot  of 
strangers." 

"Can't,"  Rayburn  told  him.  "I've  got  to  leave  at 
ten  o'clock." 

"Well,  you've  got  a  good  hour  yet,"  insisted  the 
officer.  "  Come  up  on  the  next  floor,  whe~e  the  orches- 

167 


Abner   Daniel 

tra  is,  anyway,  and  we  can  sit  down  and  watch  the 
crowd  come  in." 

Miller  complied,  and  they  found  seats  on  the  spacious 
floor  overlooking  the  thronged  office.  From  where  they 
sat  they  could  look  through  several  large  drawing- 
rooms  into  the  ballroom  beyond.  Already  a  consid 
erable  number  of  people  had  assembled,  and  many 
couples  were  walking  about,  even  quite  near  to  the 
two  young  men. 

"By  George!"  suddenly  exclaimed  Miller,  as  a 
couple  passed  them,  "who  is  that  stunning  -  looking 
blonde;  she  walks  like  a  queen." 

"Where?"  asked  Burton,  looking  in  the  wrong 
direction. 

"Why,  there,  with  Charlie  Penrose." 

"Oh,  that  one,"  said  Burton,  trying  to  think,  "I 
know  as  well  as  I  know  anything,  but  her  name  has 
slipped  my  memory.  Why,  she's  visiting  the  Bishops 
on  Peachtree  Street — a  Miss  Bishop,  that's  it." 

"Adele,  little  Adele?  Impossible!"  cried  Rayburn, 
"and  I've  been  thinking  of  her  as  a  child  all  these 
years." 

"So  you  know  her?"  said  Captain  Burton. 

"Her  brother  is  a  chum  of  mine,"  explained  Miller. 
"  I  haven't  seen  her  since  she  went  to  Virginia  to  school, 
five  years  ago.  I  never  would  have  recognized  her 
in  the  world.  My  Lord!  she's  simply  regal." 

"I  haven't  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  her,"  said 
the  Captain;  "but  I've  heard  lots  about  her  from  the 
boys  who  go  to  Bishop's.  They  say  she's  remark 
ably  clever — recites,  you  know,  and  takes  off  the  planta 
tion  negro  to  perfection.  She's  a  great  favorite  with 
Major  Middleton,  who  doesn't  often  take  to  the  frying 
size.  She  has  been  a  big  drawing  card  out  at  Bishop's 
ever  since  she  came.  The  boys  say  the  house  over 
flows  every  evening.  Are  you  going  to  speak  to  her?" 

168 


Abner   Daniel 

"If  I  get  a  good  chance,"  said  Rayburn,  his  eyes 
on  the  couple  as  they  disappeared  in  the  ballroom. 
I  don't  like  to  go  in  looking  like  this,  but  she'd  want 
to  hear  from  home." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  Burton.  "Well,  you'd  better  try 
it  before  the  grand  march  sweeps  everything  before 
it." 

As  Miller  entered  the  ballroom,  Penrose  was  giv 
ing  Adele  a  seat  behind  a  cluster  of  palms,  near  the 
grand  piano,  around  which  the  German  orchestra  was 
grouped.  He  went  straight  to  her. 

"You  won't  remember  me,  Miss  Adele,"  he  said, 
with  a  smile,  "  but  I'm  going  to  risk  speaking  to  you, 
anyway." 

She  looked  up  from  the  bunch  of  flowers  in  her  lap, 
and,  in  a  startled,  eager  sort  of  way,  began  to  study 
his  face. 

"No,  I  do  not,"  she  said,  flushing  a  little,  and  yet 
smiling  agreeably. 

"Well,  I  call  that  a  good  joke,"  Penrose  broke  in, 
with  a  laugh,  as  he  greeted  Miller  with  a  familiar 
slap  on  the  shoulder.  "  Why,  Rayburn,  on  my  word, 
she  hasn't  talked  of  anybody  else  for  the  last  week, 
and  here  she — " 

"You  are  not  Rayburn  Miller!"  Adele  exclaimed, 
and  she  stood  up  to  give  him  her  hand.  "  Yes,  I  have 
been  talking  of  you,  and  it  seems  to  me  I  have  a  thou 
sand  things  to  say,  and  oh,  so  many  thanks!" 

There  was  something  in  this  impulsive  greeting 
that  gave  Miller  a  delectable  thrill  all  over. 

"You  were  such  a  little  thing  the  last  time  I  saw 
you,"  he  said,  almost  tenderly.  "  I  declare,  you  have 
changed — so,  so  remarkably." 

She  nodded  to  Penrose,  who  was  excusing  himself, 
and  then  she  said  to  Miller,  "  Are  you  going  to  dance 
to-night?" 

169 


Abner   Daniel 

He  explained  that  he  was  obliged  to  take  the  train 
which  left  in  a  few  minutes. 

He  saw  her  face  actually  fall  with  disappointment. 
The  very  genuineness  of  the  expression  pleased  him 
inexplicably.  "  Then  I  must  hurry,"  she  said.  "Would 
you  mind  talking  to  me  a  little  while?" 

"Nothing  could  possibly  please  me  so  much,"  said 
he.  "Suppose  we  stroll  around?" 

She  took  his  arm  and  he  led  her  back  to  the  rotunda 
overlooking  the  office. 

"So  you  are  Rayburn  Miller!"  she  said,  looking 
at  him  wonderingly.  "  Do  you  know,  I  have  pictured 
you  in  my  mind  many  times  since  mother  wrote  me 
all  about  how  you  rescued  us  from  ruin.  Oh,  Mr. 
Miller,  I  could  not  in  a  thousand  years  tell  you  how 
rny  heart  filled  with  gratitude  to  you.  My  mother 
goes  into  the  smallest  details  in  her  letters,  and  she 
described  your  every  word  and  action  during  that 
transaction  in  your  office.  I  could  tell  just  where  her 
eyes  filled  and  her  throat  choked  up  by  her  quiver 
ing  handwriting.  I  declare,  I  looked  on  you  as  a  sort 
of  king  with  unlimited  power.  If  I  were  a  man  I'd 
rather  use  my  brain  to  help  suffering  people  than  to  be 
made  President  of  the  United  States  and  be  a  mere 
figure-head.  You  must  not  think  I  am  spoiled  by  all 
this  glitter  and  parade  down  here.  The  truth  is,  I 
heartily  despise  it.  I  wanted  to  be  at  home  so  bad 
when  I  got  that  letter  that  I  cried  myself  to  sleep." 

"You  must  not  forget  that  your  brother  conceived 
the  plan,"  Miller  protested,  "and  that  I  only—" 

"Oh  yes;  I  know  Alan  thought  of  it,"  she  interrupt 
ed,  "  but  without  your  experience  and  firmness  it  would 
have  remained  in  his  dear  old  brain  till  the  Lord  knows 
when.  The  idea  of  their  being  in  debt  was  slowly 
killing  my  father  and  mother,  and  you  came  to  their 
relief  just  when  they  were  unable  to  bear  it  any 

170 


Abner   Daniel 

longer.  I'm  so  glad  you  thought  of  borrowing  that 
money." 

Just  then  a  young  man,  half  a  head  shorter  than 
Adele,  came  up  hurriedly.  "Oh,  here  you  are/'  he 
exclaimed,  in  a  gasp  of  relief.  "I've  been  looking 
for  you  everywhere.  This  is  mine,  you  know — the 
grand  march.  They  are  all  ready." 

Adele  smiled  pleasantly.  "I  hope  you'll  excuse 
me  from  it,  Mr.  Tedcastle,"  she  said.  "I've  just  met 
a  friend  from  home;  I  want  to  talk  with  him,  and — " 

"But,  Miss  Bishop,  I—" 

"I  asked  you  to  please  excuse  me,  Mr.  Tedcastle." 
Miller  saw  her  face  harden,  as  if  from  the  sneer  of 
contempt  that  passed  over  it.  "I  hope  it  will  not  be 
necessary  for  me  to  explain  my  reasons  in  detail  until 
I  have  a  little  more  time  at  my  disposal." 

"Oh,  certainly  not,  Miss  Bishop,"  said  the  young 
man,  red  with  anger,  as  he  bowed  himself  away. 

"What's  society  coming  to?"  Adele  asked  Miller, 
with  a  nervous  little  laugh.  "Does  a  lady  have  to 
get  down  on  her  knees  and  beg  men,  little  jumping- 
jacks,  like  that  one,  to  excuse  her,  and  pet  them  into 
a  good -humor  when  she  has  good  reason  to  change 
her  mind  about  an  engagement?  That's  a  sort  of 
slavery  I  don't  intend  to  enter." 

"You  served  him  right,"  said  Miller,  who  had  him 
self  resented  the  young  man's  childish  impetuosity, 
and  felt  like  slapping  him  for  his  impertinence. 

Adele  shrugged  her  fine  shoulders.  "Let's  not 
waste  any  more  time  talking  about  him,"  she  said. 
"I  was  going  to  tell  you  how  happy  you  made  them 
all.  When  I  read  mother's  description  of  their  return 
home  that  night — how  she  went  round  looking  at  each 
object  and  touching  it,  that  she  might  realize  it  was 
hers  again;  and  how  father  sat  up  till  past  midnight 
talking  incessantly  about  it;  and  all  the  droll  things 

171 


Abner   Daniel 

Uncle  Abner  said,  I  cried  and  laughed  by  turns.  I 
longed  to  see  you,  to  tell  you  how  I  felt  about  what 
you  did,  and  yet,  now  that  I'm  with  you,  all  I  say 
seems  utterly  weak  and — inadequate/' 

"It  seems  wonderfully  nice  to  me,"  Miller  declared. 
"I  don't  deserve  anything,  and  yet — well,  I  like  to 
hear  you  talk."  He  laughed.  "Whether  I  deserve  it 
or  not,  I  could  listen  to  you  for  a  week  on  a  stretch." 

In  truth,  Rayburn  Miller  had  never  in  all  his  varied 
social  career  become  so  suddenly  and  startlingly  in 
terested  in  any  woman.  It  all  seemed  like  a  dream, 
and  a  most  delicious  one — the  gay  assemblage,  the 
intermittent  strains  of  the  music,  the  touch  of  the 
stately  creature  on  his  arm,  the  perfume  of  her  flowers, 
her  hair,  her  eyes!  He  suddenly  felt  fearful  of  the 
passage  of  time,  the  leaving  of  his  train,  the  approach 
of  some  one  to  claim  her  attention.  He  could  not  ex 
plain  the  spell  she  had  thrown  on  him.  Was  it  be 
cause  she  was  his  friend's  sister,  and  so  astoundingly 
pretty,  frank,  and  sensible,  or  could  it  be  that — ?" 

His  train  of  thought  was  broken  by  the  approach 
of  Miss  Ida  Bishop,  Adele's  cousin,  a  rather  plain  girl, 
who,  with  her  scrawny  neck  and  scant  hair — which 
rebelled  against  being  made  much  of  —  would  have 
appeared  to  better  advantage  in  a  street  costume. 

"Oh,  Adele,"  she  cried,  reproachfully,  "what  do 
you  mean?  Do  you  know  you  have  mortally  offended 
Mr.  Tedcastle?  He  had  the  march  with  you." 

"And  I  asked  him  as  a  favor  to  excuse  me  from  it," 
said  Adele,  simply.  "I  had  just  met  Mr.  Miller,  who 
is  to  leave  on  an  early  train,  and  I  wanted  to  talk  to 
him  about  home.  Have  you  been  introduced?  My 
cousin,  Miss  Bishop,  Mr.  Rayburn  Miller." 

Miss  Bishop  bowed  indifferently,  and  looked  as  if 
she  still  saw  no  justification  in  the  slight  under  ques 
tion. 

172 


Abner   Daniel 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,"  she  said,  reprovingly.  "Mr. 
Tedcastle  has  been  as  nice  to  you  as  he  could  be,  and 
this  is  the  way  you  show  appreciation  for  it.  I  don't 
blame  him  for  being  mad,  do  you,  Mr.  Miller?" 

"I'm  afraid  I'd  be  a  prejudiced  witness,"  he  smiled, 
"benefiting  as  I  am  by  the  gentleman's  discomfiture; 
but,  really,  I  can't  think  that  any  circumstances  could 
justify  a  man  in  pressing  a  lady  to  fill  an  engagement 
when  she  chooses  not  to  do  so  for  any  reason  of  hers." 

"I  knew  you'd  say  that,"  said  Adele.  "If  any 
body  has  a  right  to  be  offended  it  is  I,  for  the  way  he 
has  acted  without  waiting  for  my  full  explanation." 

"Oh,  that  is  a  high  and  mighty  course  that  will 
do  better  for  novels  than  real  life,"  disagreed  Miss 
Ida  Bishop.  "  The  young  men  are  badly  spoiled  here, 
and  if  we  want  attention  we've  got  to  humor  them." 

"They  shall  not  be  spoiled  by  me,"  declared  Adele. 
"Why,"  shrugging  her  shoulders,  contemptuously, 
"  if  I  had  to  run  after  them  and  bind  up  their  bruises 
every  time  they  fell  down,  I'd  not  appreciate  their  at 
tentions.  Besides,  Mr.  Tedcastle  and  his  whole  ilk 
actually  put  me  to  sleep.  What  do  they  talk  about? 
Driving,  pet  dogs,  flowers,  candies,  theatre  -  parties, 
and  silly  bosh,  generally.  Last  Sunday  Senator 
Hare  dined  at  uncle's,  and  after  dinner  he  and  I  were 
having  really  a  wholesome  sort  of  talk,  and  I  was  re 
specting  myself — well,  a  little  like  I  am  now — when 
in  traped  'Teddy'  with  his  hangers-on.  Of  course,  I 
had  to  introduce  them  to  the  Senator,  and  I  felt  like 
a  fool,  for  he  knew  they  were  my  'company,'  and  it 
was  impossible  to  keep  them  quiet.  They  went  on 
with  their  baby  talk,  just  as  if  Senator  Hare  were 
being  given  an  intellectual  treat.  Of  course,  there  are 
some  grown-up  men  in  Atlanta,  but  they  are  driven 
to  the  clubs  by  the  swarms  of  little  fellows.  There 
comes  Major  Middleton,  one  of  the  old  regime.  He 

T73 


Abner   Daniel 

may  ask  me  to  dance  with  him.  Now  watch;  if  he 
does,  I'll  answer  him  just  as  I  did  Mr.  Tedcastle,  and 
you  shall  see  how  differently  he  will  treat  it." 

The  Major,  a  handsome  man  of  powerful  physique 
and  a  great  shock  of  curly,  iron-gray  hair,  approached 
Adele,  and  with  a  low  bow  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I'm  after  the  next  dance,  my  dear,"  he  said.  "  You 
are  one  of  the  very  few  who  ever  dance  with  me,  and  I 
don't  want  to  go  home  without  it." 

Adele  smiled.  'Tin  very  sorry,  Major,"  she  said; 
"but  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me  this  evening." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,  my  dear  child,"  he  said.  "  No, 
don't  explain.  I  know  your  reasons  are  all  right.  Go 
ahead  and  enjoy  yourself  in  your  own  way." 

"I  won  my  bet,"  Adele  laughed.  "Major,  I  knew 
so  well  what  you  would  say  that  I  bet  on  it,"  and  then 
she  explained  the  situation. 

"Tedcastle  ought  to  be  spanked,"  said  the  Major, 
in  his  high-keyed  voice.  "A  girl  wrho  had  not  rather 
hear  from  home  than  spin  around  with  him  ought  not 
to  have  a  home.  I'm  going  to  mine  rather  early  to 
night.  I  came  only  to  show  the  boys  how  to  make  my 
famous  Kentucky  punch." 

When  the  Major  and  Miss  Ida  Bishop  had  gone  and 
left  them  together,  Adele  looked  over  the  railing  at  the 
big  clock  in  the  office.  "  We  have  only  a  few  minutes 
longer — if  you  are  to  take  that  train,"  she  said,  regret 
fully. 

"I  never  had  as  little  interest  in  trains  in  my  life," 
he  said.  And  he  meant  it. 

"Not  in  the  trains  on  our  new  road?"  she  laughed. 

"They  are  too  far  ahead  to  interfere  with  my  com 
fort,"  he  retorted.  "  This  one  is  a  steam  night 
mare." 

"I  presume  you  really  could  not  miss  it?"  Her 
long-lashed  eyes  were  down. 

174 


Abner   Daniel 

He  hesitated;  the  simple  thought  suggested  by  her 
thrilled  him  as  he  had  never  been  thrilled  before. 

"Because,"  she  added,  "it  would  be  so  nice  to  have 
you  come  out  to-morrow  afternoon  to  tea,  about  four." 

He  drew  out  his  watch  and  looked  at  it  waveringly. 

"I  could  send  a  night  message/'  he  said,  finally. 
"I  really  don't  want  to  go.  Miss  Adele,  I  don't  want 
to  go  at  all." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  either,"  she  said,  softly.  "It 
seems  almost  as  if  we  are  quite  old  friends.  Isn't  that 
strange?" 

He  restored  his  watch  to  his  pocket.  "I  shall  stay," 
he  said,  "and  I  shall  call  to-morrow  afternoon." 

Some  one  came  for  her  a  few  minutes  later,  and  he 
went  down  to  the  office  and  out  into  the  street.  He 
wanted  to  walk,  to  feel  his  body  in  action,  keeping 
pace  with  his  throbbing,  bounding  brain.  His  whole 
being  was  aflame  with  a  fire  which  had  never  burned 
in  him  before. 

"Alan's  little  sister!"  he  kept  repeating  to  himself. 
"  Little  Adele  —  she's  wonderful,  wonderful !  Perhaps 
she  may  be  the  woman.  By  George!  she  is — she  is! 
A  creature  like  that,  with  that  soul  full  of  appreciation 
for  a  man's  best  efforts,  would  lift  a  fellow  to  the  high 
est  rung  on  the  ladder  of  human  effort.  Alan's  little 
sister!  And  the  idiot  never  told  me,  never  intimated 
that  she  was — a  goddess." 

In  his  room  at  the  hotel  that  night  he  slept  little,  his 
brain  being  so  active  with  his  new  experience.  He 
saw  her  the  next  afternoon  alone,  over  a  dainty  tea- 
service  of  fragile  china,  in  a  Turkish  corner  in  William 
Bishop's  great,  quiet  house,  and  then  proposed  driv 
ing  her  the  next  day  to  the  Driving  Club.  He  remained 
a  week,  seeing  her,  under  some  pretext  or  other,  every 
day  during  that  time.  Sometimes  it  was  to  call  with 
her  on  friends  of  hers.  Once  it  was  to  attend  a  bar- 

175 


Abner   Daniel 

becue  given  by  Captain  Burton  at  a  club-house  in  the 
country,  and  once  he  gave  her  and  her  cousin  a  luncheon 
at  the  Capitol  City  Club  with  a  box  at  the  matinee 
afterwards.  He  told  himself  that  he  had  never  lived 
before,  and  that,  somehow,  he  was  just  beginning. 

"No,"  he  mused,  as  he  sat  in  his  train  homeward 
bound.  "I  can't  tell  Alan.  I  simply  couldn't  do  it, 
after  all  the  rubbish  I  have  crammed  into  him.  Then 
she's  his  sister.  I  couldn't  talk  to  him  about  her — not 
now,  anyway." 


XXI 

I'M   glad  you   got   back/'  Rayburn's 
sister,  Mrs.  Lampson,  said  to  him  at 
'breakfast  the  morning  following  his 
return  on  the  midnight  train.     "We 
jare  having  a  glorious  meeting  at  our 
I  church." 

"Oh,  is  that  so?"  said  the  young  man,  sipping  his 
coffee.  "Who  is  conducting  it?" 

"Brother  Maynell/'  answered  Mrs.  Lampson,  en 
thusiastically,  a  tinge  of  color  in  her  wan,  thin  face. 
"He's  a  travelling  evangelist,  who  has  been  conduct 
ing  revivals  all  over  the  South.  It  is  really  remarkable 
the  interest  he  has  stirred  up.  We  are  holding  prayer- 
meetings  morning  and  afternoon,  though  only  the 
ladies  meet  in  the  afternoon.  I  conducted  the  meeting 
yesterday." 

"Oh  no;  did  you,  really?    Why,  sis — " 
"Don't  begin  to  poke  fun  at  me,"  said  Mrs.  Lamp- 
son.     "  I  know  I  didn't  do  as  well  as  some  of  the  others, 
but  I  did  the  best  I  could,  because  I  felt  it  was  my  duty." 
"I  was  not  going  to  make  fun,"  said  Miller,  sooth 
ingly;  "but  it  seems  mighty  strange  to  think  of  you 
standing  up  before  all  the  rest,  and — " 

"  It  was  not  such  a  very  hard  thing  to  do,"  said  the 
lady,  who  was  older  than  her  brother  by  ten  years. 
She  had  gray  hairs  at  her  temples,  and  looked  generally 
as  if  she  needed  out-door  exercise  and  some  diversion 
to  draw  her  out  of  herself. 
"  177 


Abner   Daniel 

Rayburn  helped  himself  to  the  deliciously  browned, 
fried  chicken,  in  its  bed  of  cream  gravy,  and  a  hot 
puffy  biscuit. 

"And  how  does  Mr.  Lapsley,  the  regular  preacher, 
like  this  innovation?"  he  questioned.  "I  reckon  you 
all  pay  the  new  man  a  fee  for  stirring  things  up?" 

"  Yes ;  we  agreed  to  give  him  two  hundred  dollars, 
half  of  which  goes  to  an  orphan  asylum  he  is  building. 
Oh,  I  don't  think  brother  Lapsley  minds  much,  but  of 
course  it  must  affect  him  a  little  to  see  the  great  interest 
brother  Maynell  has  roused,  and  I  suppose  some  are 
mean  enough  to  think  he  could  have  done  the  same, 
if  he  had  tried." 

"No,  it's  clearly  a  case  of  a  new  broom,"  smiled 
Rayburn,  buttering  his  biscuit.  "  Old  Lap  might  get 
up  there  and  groan  and  whine  for  a  week  and  not 
touch  a  mourner  with  a  ten-foot  pole.  The  other  chap 
knows  his  business,  and  part  of  his  business  is  not  to 
stay  long  enough  to  wear  out  his  pet  phrases  or  ex 
haust  his  rockets.  I'm  sorry  for  Lapsley;  he's  paid  a 
regular  salary,  and  is  not  good  for  any  other  sort  of 
work,  and  this  shows  him  up  unfairly.  In  the  long 
run,  I  believe  he'll  get  as  many  into  the  church  as  the 
other  man,  and  they  will  be  more  apt  to  stick.  Sister, 
that's  the  trouble  with  these  tin-pan  revivals.  The 
biggest  converts  backslide.  I  reckon  you  are  working 
over  old  material  now." 

Mrs.  Lampson  frowned  and  her  lip  stiffened. 

"I  don't  like  your  tone  in  speaking  of  such  things," 
she  said.  "  Indeed,  Rayburn,  I  have  been  deeply  mor 
tified  in  the  last  week  by  some  remarks  that  have  been 
made  about  you.  I  didn't  intend  to  mention  them,  but 
you  make  me  do  it." 

"Oh,  I  knew  they  wouldn't  let  me  rest,"  said  Miller; 
"  they  never  do  in  their  annual  shake-ups." 

"Brother,  you  are  looked  on  by  nearly  all  religious 
178  ' 


Abner   Daniel 

workers  in  town  as  a  dangerous  young  man — I  mean 
dangerous  to  the  boys  who  are  just  growing  up,  be 
cause  they  all  regard  you  as  a  sort  of  standard  to  shape 
their  conduct  by.  They  see  you  going  to  balls  and 
dances  and  playing  cards,  and  they  think  it  is  smart 
and  will  not  be  interested  in  our  meetings.  They  see 
that  you  live  and  seem  to  prosper  under  it,  and  they 
follow  in  your  footsteps.  I  am  afraid  you  don't  real 
ize  the  awful  example  you  are  setting.  Brother  May- 
nell  has  heard  of  you  and  asked  me  about  you  the  other 
day.  Some  people  think  you  have  been  in  Atlanta  all 
this  time  to  avoid  the  meeting/' 

"I  didn't  know  it  was  going  on,"  said  Miller,  testily. 
"  I  assure  you  I  never  run  from  a  thing  like  that.  The 
best  thing  to  do  is  to  add  fuel  to  the  fire — it  burns  out 
quicker." 

"Well,  you  will  go  out  to  meeting,  won't  you?"  in 
sisted  the  sweet  -  voiced  woman.  "  You  won't  have 
them  all  thinking  you  have  no  respect  for  the  religion 
of  our  father  and  mother — will  you?" 

Rayburn  squirmed  under  this  close  fire. 

"I  shall  go  occasionally  when  there  is  preaching," 
he  said,  reluctantly.  "  I  would  be  out  of  place  at  one 
of  the — the  knock-down  and  drag-out  shouting-bees." 
Then,  seeing  her  look  of  horror  at  the  words  which  had 
unthoughtedly  glided  from  his  lips,  he  strove  to  make 
amends.  "  Oh,  sister,  do — do  be  reasonable,  and  look 
at  it  from  my  point  of  view.  I  don't  believe  that's  the 
way  to  serve  God  or  beautify  the  world.  I  believe  in 
being  happy  in  one's  own  way,  just  so  that  you  don't 
tread  on  the  rights  of  other  people." 

"But,"  said  Mrs.  Lampson,  her  eyes  flashing,  "you 
are  treading  on  the  rights  of  others.  They  are  trying 
to  save  the  souls  of  the  rising  generation  in  the  com 
munity,  and  you  and  your  social  set  use  your  influ 
ence  in  the  other  direction." 

179 


Abner    Daniel 

"But  what  about  the  rights  of  my  social  set,  if  you 
want  to  call  it  by  that  name?"  Miller  retorted,  warmly. 
"  We  have  the  right  to  enjoy  ourselves  in  our  way,  just 
as  you  have  in  yours.  We  don't  interfere — we  never 
ask  you  to  close  up  shop  so  we  can  have  a  dance  or  a 
picnic,  but  you  do.  If  we  dare  give  a  party  while  some 
revivalist  is  filling  his  pockets  in  town  the  revivalist 
jumps  on  us  publicly  and  holds  us  up  as  examples  of 
headlong  plungers  into  fiery  ruin.  There  is  not  a  bit 
of  justice  or  human  liberty  in  that,  and  you'll  never 
reach  a  certain  element  till  you  quit  such  a  course. 
Last  year  one  of  the  preachers  in  this  town  declared  in 
the  pulpit  that  a  girl  could  not  be  pure  and  dance  a 
round  dance.  It  raised  the  very  devil  in  the  hearts  of 
the  young  men,  who  knew  he  was  a  dirty  liar,  and  they 
got  up  as  many  dances  out  of  spite  as  they  possibly 
could.  In  fact,  some  of  them  came  near  knocking  the 
preacher  down  on  the  street.  I  am  a  conservative  sort 
of  fellow,  but  I  secretly  wished  that  somebody  would 
slug  that  man  in  the  jaw." 

"I'm  really  afraid  you  are  worse  than  ever,"  sighed 
Mrs.  Lampson.  "I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  you." 
She  laughed  good-naturedly  as  she  rose  and  stood  be 
hind  his  chair,  touching  his  head  tenderly.  "  It  really 
does  make  me  rather  mad,"  she  confessed, "  to  hear  them 
making  you  out  such  a  bad  stripe  when  I  know  what 
a  wonderful  man  you  really  are  for  your  age.  I  really 
believe  some  of  them  are  jealous  of  your  success  and 
standing,  but  I  do  want  you  to  be  more  religious." 

When  Miller  reached  his  office  about  ten  o'clock  and 
had  opened  the  door  he  noticed  that  Craig's  bank  on 
the  corner  across  the  street  was  still  closed.  It  was  an 
unusual  occurrence  at  that  hour  and  it  riveted  Miller's 
attention.  Few  people  were  on  the  street,  and  none  of 
them  seemed  to  have  noticed  it.  The  church-bell  in 
the  next  block  was  ringing  for  the  revivalist's  prayer- 

180 


Abner    Daniel 

meeting,  and  Miller  saw  the  merchants  and  lawyers 
hurrying  by  on  their  way  to  worship.  Miller  stood  in 
his  front  door  and  bowed  to  them  as  they  passed.  Trabue 
hustled  out  of  his  office,  pulling  the  door  to  with  a  jerk. 

"Prayer-meeting?"  he  asked,  glancing  at  Miller. 
-    "No,  not  to-day,"  answered  Miller;  "got  some  writ 
ing  to  do." 

"  That  preacher's  a  hummer,"  said  the  old  lawyer. 
"I've  never  seen  his  equal.  He'd  'a*  made  a  bang-up 
criminal  lawyer.  Why,  they  say  old  Joe  Murphy's 
converted — got  out  of  his  bed  at  midnight  and  went  to 
Tim  Slocum's  house  to  get  'im  to  pray  for  'im.  He's 
denied  thar  was  a  God  all  his  life  till  now.  1  say  a 
preacher's  worth  two  hundred  to  a  town  if  it  can  do 
that  sort  of  work." 

"  He's  certainly  worth  it  to  Slocum,"  said  Miller, 
with  a  smile.  "If  I'd  been  denying  there  was  a  God 
as  long  as  he  has,  I'd  pay  more  than  that  to  get  rid  of 
the  habit.  Slocum's  able,  and  I  think  he  ought  to  foot 
that  preacher's  bill." 

"You  are  a  tough  customer,  Miller,"  said  Trabue, 
with  a  knowing  laugh.  "  You'd  better  look  out — May- 
nell's  got  an  eye  on  you.  He'll  call  out  yore  name 
some  o'  these  days,  an'  ask  us  to  pray  fer  you." 

"I  was  just  wondering  if  there's  anything  wrong 
with  Craig,"  said  Miller.  "I  see  his  door's  not  open." 

"Oh,  I  reckon  not,"  said  the  old  lawyer.  "He's 
been  taking  part  in  the  meeting.  He  may  have  over 
slept." 

There  was  a  grocery-store  near  Miller's  office,  and  the 
proprietor  came  out  on  the  sidewalk  and  joined  the  two 
men.  His  name  was  Barnett.  He  was  a  powerful 
man,  who  stood  six  feet  five  in  his  boots ;  he  wore  no 
coat,  and  his  suspenders  were  soiled  and  knotted. 

"I  see  you-uns  is  watchin'  Craig's  door,"  he  said. 
"I've  had  my  eye  on  it  ever  since  breakfast.  I  hardly 

181 


Abner    Daniel 

know  what  to  make  of  it.  I  went  thar  to  buy  some 
New  York  exchange  to  pay  for  a  bill  o'  flour,  but  he 
wouldn't  let  me  in.  I  know  he's  thar,  for  I  seed  'im 
go  in  about  an  hour  ago.  I  mighty  nigh  shook  the  door 
off  n  the  hinges.  His  clerk,  that  Western  fellow,  Win- 
ship,  has  gone  off  to  visit  his  folks,  an'  I  reckon  maybe 
Craig's  got  all  the  book-keepin'  to  do." 

"Well,  he  oughtn't  to  keep  his  doors  closed  at  this 
time  of  day,"  remarked  Miller.  "A  man  who  has 
other  people's  money  in  his  charge  can't  be  too  care 
ful." 

"He's  got  some  o'  mine,"  said  the  grocer,  "and 
Mary  Ann  Tarpley,  my  wife's  sister,  put  two  hundred 
thar  day  before  yesterday.  Oh,  I  reckon  nothin's 
wrong,  though  I  do  remember  I  heerd  somebody  say 
Craig  bought  cotton  futures  an'  sometimes  got  skeerd 
up  a  little  about  meetin'  his  obligations." 

"I  have  never  heard  that,"  said  Rayburn  Miller, 
raising  his  brows. 

"Well,  I  have,  an'  I've  heerd  the  same  o'  Winship," 
said  the  grocer,  "but  I  never  let  it  go  no  furder.  I 
ain't  no  hand  to  circulate  ill  reports  agin  a  good  mem 
ber  of  the  church." 

Miller  bit  his  lip  and  an  unpleasant  thrill  passed 
over  him  as  Trabue  walked  on.  "Twenty -five  thou 
sand,"  he  thought  is  no  small  amount.  It  would  tempt 
five  men  out  of  ten  if  they  were  inclined  to  go  wrong, 
and  were  in  a  tight." 

The  grocer  was  looking  at  him  steadily. 

"  You  bank  thar,  don't  you?"  he  asked. 

Miller  nodded:  "But  I  happen  to  have  no  money 
there  right  now.  I  made  a  deposit  at  the  other  bank 
yesterday." 

"Suspicious,  heigh?  Now  jest  a  little,  wasn't 
you?"  The  grocer  now  spoke  with  undisguised  un 
easiness. 

182 


Abner   Daniel 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  the  lawyer.  "I  was  doing 
some  business  for  the  other  bank,  and  felt  that  I  ought 
to  favor  them  by  my  cash  deposits." 

"You  don't  think  thar's  anything  the  matter,  do 
you?"  asked  the  grocer,  his  face  still  hardening. 

"I  think  Craig  is  acting  queerly — very  queerly  for 
a  banker,"  was  Miller's  slow  reply.  "  He  has  always 
been  most  particular  to  open  up  early  and — " 

"Hello,"  cried  out  a  cheery  voice,  that  of  the  middle- 
aged  proprietor  of  the  Barley  Flouring  Mills,  emerging 
from  Barnett's  store.  "I  see  you  fellows  have  your 
eye  on  Craig's  front.  If  he  was  a  drinking  man  we 
might  suspicion  he'd  been  on  a  tear  last  night,  wouldn't 
we?" 

"It  looks  damned  shaky  to  me,"  retorted  the  grocer, 
growing  more  excited.  "I'm  goin'  over  there  an'  try 
that  door  again.  A  man  'at  has  my  money  can't  at 
tract  the  attention  Craig  has  an'  me  say  nothinV 

The  miller  pulled  his  little  turf  of  gray  beard  and 
winked  at  Rayburn. 

"You  been  scarin'  Barnett,"  he  said,  with  a  tenta 
tive  inflection.  "He's  easily  rattled.  By -the -way, 
now  that  I  think  of  it,  it  does  seem  to  me  I  heard  some 
of  the  Methodists  talkin'  about  reproving  Craig  an' 
Winship  for  specula  tin'  in  grain  and  cotton.  I  know 
they've  been  dabblin'  in  it,  for  Craig  always  got  my 
market  reports.  He's  been  dealin'  with  a  bucket-shop 
in  Atlanta." 

"I'm  going  over  there,"  said  Miller,  abruptly,  and 
he  hurried  across  in  the  wake  of  the  big  grocer.  The 
miller  followed  him.  On  the  other  side  of  the  street 
several  people  were  curiously  watching  the  bank  door, 
and  when  Barnett  went  to  it  and  grasped  the  handle 
and  began  to  shake  it  vigorously  they  crossed  over  to 
him. 

"What's  wrong?"  said  a  dealer  in  fruits,  a  short, 

183 


Abner    Daniel 

thick-set  man  with  a  florid  face ;  but  Harriett's  only  re 
ply  was  another  furious  shaking  of  the  door. 

"Why,  man,  what's  got  into  you?"  protested  the 
fruit  -  dealer,  in  a  rising  tone  of  astonishment.  "Do 
you  intend  to  break  that  door  down?" 

"  I  will  if  that  damned  skunk  don't  open  it  an'  give 
me  my  money,"  said  Barnett,  who  was  now  red  in  the 
face  and  almost  foaming  at  the  mouth.  "He's  back 
in  thar,  an'  he  knows  it's  past  openin'  time.  By  gum! 
I  know  more  'n  I'm  goin'  to  tell  right  now." 

This  was  followed  by  another  rattling  of  the  door, 
and  the  grocer's  enormous  weight,  like  a  battering- 
ram,  was  thrown  against  the  heavy  walnut  shutter. 

"Open  up,  I  say  —  open  up  in  thar!"  yelled  the 
grocer,  in  a  voice  hoarse  with  passion  and  suspense. 

A  dozen  men  were  now  grouped  around  the  door 
way.  Barnett  released  the  handle  and  stood  facing 
them. 

"Somethin's  rotten  in  Denmark,"  he  panted.  "Be 
lieve  me  or  not,  fellows,  I  know  a  thing  or  two.  This 
bank's  in  a  bad  fix." 

A  thrill  of  horror  shot  through  Miller.  The  words 
had  the  ring  of  conviction.  Alan  Bishop's  money  was 
in  bad  hands  if  it  was  there  at  all.  Suddenly  he  saw 
a  white,  trembling  hand  fumbling  with  the  lower  part 
of  the  close-drawn  window-shade,  as  if  some  one  were 
about  to  raise  it;  but  the  shade  remained  down,  the  in 
terior  still  obscured.  It  struck  Miller  as  being  a  sud 
den  impulse,  defeated  by  fear  of  violence.  There  was 
a  pause.  Then  the  storm  broke  again.  About  fifty 
men  had  assembled,  all  wild  to  know  what  was  wrong. 
Miller  elbowed  his  way  to  the  door  and  stood  on  the 
step,  slightly  raised  above  the  others,  Barnett  by  his 
side.  "Let  me  speak  to  him,"  he  said,  pacifically. 
Barnett  yielded  doggedly,  and  Rayburn  put  his  lips 
to  the  crack  between  the  two  folding-doors. 

184 


Abner    Daniel 

"Mr.  Craig!"  he  called  out— "Mr.  Craig!" 
There  was  no  reply,  but  Rayburn  heard  the  rustling 
of  paper  on  the  inside  near  the  crack  against  which 
his  ear  was  pressed,  and  then  the  edge  of  a  sheet  of 
writing-paper  was  slowly  shoved  through.  Rayburn 
grasped  it,  lifting  it  above  a  dozen  outstretched  hands. 

" Hold  on !"  he  cried,  authoritatively.     " I'll  read  it." 

The  silence  of  the  grave  fell  on  the  crowd  as  the 
young  man  began  to  read. 

"Friends  and  citizens,"  the  note  ran,  "  Winship  has 
absconded  with  every  dollar  in  the  vaults,  except  about 
two  hundred  dollars  in  my  small  safe.  He  has  been 
gone  two  days,  I  thought  on  a  visit  to  his  kinfolks.  I 
have  just  discovered  the  loss.  I'm  completely  ruined, 
and  am  now  trying  to  make  out  a  report  of  my  con 
dition.  Have  mercy  on  an  old  man." 

Rayburn 's  face  was  as  white  as  that  of  a  corpse. 
The  paper  dropped  from  his  hand  and  he  stepped  down 
into  the  crowd.  He  was  himself  no  loser,  but  the 
Bishops  had  lost  their  all.  How  could  he  break  the 
news  to  them?  Presently  he  began  to  hope  faintly 
that  old  Bishop  might,  within  the  last  week,  have 
drawn  out  at  least  part  of  the  money,  but  that  hope 
was  soon  discarded,  for  he  remembered  that  the  old 
man  was  waiting  to  invest  the  greater  part  of  the  de 
posit  in  some  Shoal  Creek  Cotton  Mill  stock  which 
had  been  promised  him  in  a  few  weeks.  No,  the  hope 
was  groundless.  Alan,  his  father,  Mrs.  Bishop,  and 
— Aclele — 

Miller's  heart  sank  down  into  the  very  ooze  of  de 
spair.  All  that  he  had  done  for  Adele's  people,  and 
which  had  roused  her  deepest,  tenderest  gratitude,  was 
swept  away.  What  would  she  think  now? 

His  train  of  thought  was  rudely  broken  by  an  oath 
from  Barnett,  who,  with  the  rage  of  a  madman,  sud 
denly  threw  his  shoulder  against  the  door.  There  was 

185 


Abner   Daniel 

a  crash,  a  groan  of  bursting  timber  and  breaking  bolts, 
and  the  door  flew  open.  For  one  instant  Miller  saw 
the  ghastly  face  and  cowering  form  of  the  old  banker 
behind  the  wire-grating,  and  then,  with  a  scream  of 
terror,  Craig  ran  into  a  room  in  the  rear,  and  thence 
made  his  escape  at  a  door  opening  on  the  side  street. 
The  mob  filled  the  bank,  and  did  not  discover  Craig's 
escape  for  a  minute ;  then,  with  a  howl  of  rage,  it  surged 
back  into  the  street.  Craig  was  ahead  of  them,  run 
ning  towards  the  church,  where  prayer-meeting  was 
being  held,  the  tails  of  his  long  frock-coat  flying  be 
hind  him,  his  worn  silk  hat  in  his  convulsive  grasp. 

"Thar  he  goes!"  yelled  Barnett,  and  he  led  the  mob 
after  him,  all  running  at  the  top  of  their  speed  without 
realizing  why  they  were  doing  so.  They  gained  on 
the  fleeing  banker,  and  Barnett  could  almost  touch 
him  when  they  reached  the  church.  With  a  cry  of 
fear,  like  that  of  a  wild  animal  brought  to  bay,  Craig 
sprang  up  the  steps  and  ran  into  the  church,  crying 
and  groaning  for  help. 

A  dozen  men  and  women  and  children  were  kneeling 
at  the  altar  to  get  the  benefit  of  the  prayers  of  the  min 
isters  and  the  congregation,  but  they  stood  up  in  alarm, 
some  of  them  with  wet  faces. 

The  mob  checked  itself  at  the  door,  but  the  greater 
part  of  it  crowded  into  the  two  aisles,  a  motley  human 
mass,  many  of  them  without  coats  or  hats.  The  trav 
elling  evangelist  seemed  shocked  out  of  expression; 
but  the  pastor,  Mr.  Lapsley,  who  was  an  old  Confed 
erate  soldier,  and  used  to  scenes  of  violence,  stood 
calmly  facing  them. 

"What's  all  this  mean?"  he  asked. 

"I  came  here  for  protection,"  whined  Craig,  "to  my 
own  church  and  people.  This  mob  wants  to  kill  me — 
tear  me  limb  from  limb." 

"But  what's  wrong?"  asked  the  preacher. 

186 


Abner   Daniel 

"Winship,"  panted  Craig,  his  white  head  hanging 
down  as  he  stood  touching  the  altar  railing  —  "  Win- 
ship's  absconded  with  all  the  money  in  my  vault.  I'm 
ruined.  These  people  want  me  to  give  up  what  I  haven't 
got.  Oh,  God  knows,  I  would  refund  every  cent  if  I 
had  it!" 

"You  shall  have  our  protection,"  said  the  minister, 
calmly.  "They  won't  violate  the  sacredness  of  the 
house  of  God  by  raising  a  row.  You  are  safe  here, 
brother  Craig.  I'm  sure  all  reasonable  people  will 
not  blame  you  for  the  fault  of  another." 

"I  believe  he's  got  my  money,"  cried  out  Barnett,  in 
a  coarse,  sullen  voice,  "and  the  money  of  some  o'  my 
women  folks  that's  helpless,  and  he's  got  to  turn  it 
over.  Oh,  he's  got  money  some'r's,  I'll  bet  on  that!" 

"The  law  is  your  only  recourse,  Mr.  Barnett,"  said 
the  preacher,  calmly.  "Even  now  you  are  laying 
yourself  liable  to  serious  prosecution  for  threatening 
a  man  with  bodily  injury  when  you  can't  prove  he's 
wilfully  harmed  you." 

The  words  told  on  the  mob,  many  of  them  being 
only  small  depositors,  and  Barnett  found  himself  with 
out  open  support.  He  was  silent.  Rayburn  Miller, 
who  had  come  up  behind  the  mob  and  was  now  in  the 
church,  went  to  Craig's  side.  Many  thought  he  was 
proffering  his  legal  services. 

"One  word,  Mr.  Craig,"  he  said,  touching  the  quiver 
ing  arm  of  the  banker. 

"Oh,  you're  no  loser,"  said  Craig,  turning  on  him. 
"There  was  nothing  to  your  credit." 

"  I  know  that,"  whispered  Miller,  "  but  as  attorney  for 
the  Bishops,  I  have  a  right  to  ask  if  their  money  is  safe. " 

The  eyes  of  the  banker  went  to  the  ground. 

"It's  gone — every  cent  of  it!"  he  said.  "It  was 
their  money  that  tempted  Winship.  He'd  never  seen 
such  a  large  pile  at  once." 

187 


Abner   Daniel 

"You  don't  mean—"  But  Miller  felt  the  utter  fu 
tility  of  the  question  on  his  tongue  and  turned  away. 
Outside  he  met  Jeff  Dukes,  one  of  the  town  marshals, 
who  had  been  running,  and  was  very  red  in  the  face 
and  out  of  breath. 

"Is  that  mob  in  thar?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  and  quiet  now,"  said  Miller.  "  Let  them  alone  ; 
the  important  thing  is  to  put  the  police  on  Winship's 
track.  Come  back  down-town." 

"I'll  have  to  git  the  particulars  from  Craig  fust," 
said  Dukes.  "Are  you  loser?" 

"No,  but  some  of  my  clients  are,  and  I'm  ready  to 
stand  any  expense  to  catch  the  thief." 

"  Well,  I'll  see  you  in  a  minute,  and  we'll  heat  all  the 
wires  out  of  town.  I'll  see  you  in  a  minute." 

Farther  down  the  street  Miller  met  Dolly  Barclay. 
She  had  come  straight  from  her  home,  in  an  opposite 
direction  from  the  bank,  and  had  evidently  not  heard 
the  news. 

"I'm  on  my  way  to  prayer-meeting,"  she  smiled. 
"I'm  getting  good  to  please  the  old  folks,  but — "  She 
noticed  his  pale  face.  "What  is  the  matter?  Has 
anything — " 

"Craig's  ^ank  has  failed,"  Rayburn  told  her  briefly. 
"  He  says  Winship  has  absconded  with  all  the  cash  in 
the  vaults." 

Dolly  stared  aghast.     "And  you — you — " 

"I  had  no  money  there,"  broke  in  Miller.  "I  was 
fortunate  enough  to  escape." 

"But  Alan — Mr.  Bishop?"  She  was  studying  his 
face  and  pondering  his  unwonted  excitement.  "Had 
they  money  there?" 

Miller  did  not  answer,  but  she  would  not  be  put  aside. 

"Tell  me,"  she  urged — "tell  me  that." 

"If  I  do,  it's  in  absolute  confidence,"  he  said,  with 
professional  firmness.  "No  one  must  know — not  a 

188 


Abner   Daniel 

soul — that  they  were  depositors,  for  much  depends  on 
it.  If  Wilson  knew  they  were  hard  up  he  might  drive 
them  to  the  wall.  They  were  not  only  depositors,  but 
they  lose  every  cent  they  have — twenty-five  thousand 
dollars  in  a  lump." 

He  saw  her  catch  her  breath,  and  her  lips  moved 
mutely,  as  if  repeating  the  words  he  had  just  spoken. 
"Poor  Alan!"  he  heard  her  say.  "This  is  too,  too 
much,  after  all  he  has  gone  through." 

Miller  touched  his  hat  and  started  on,  but  she  joined 
him,  keeping  by  his  side  like  a  patient,  pleading  child. 
He  marvelled  over  her  strength  and  wonderful  poise. 
"I  am  taking  you  out  of  your  way,  Miss  Dolly,"  he 
said,  gently,  more  gently  than  he  had  ever  spoken  to 
her  before. 

"I  only  want  to  know  if  Alan  has  heard.  Do — do 
tell  me  that." 

"  No,  he's  at  home.  I  shall  ride  out  as  soon  as  I  get 
the  matter  in  the  hands  of  the  police." 

She  put  out  her  slender,  shapely  hand  and  touched 
his  arm. 

"  Tell  him,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  uncertain  voice,  "  that 
it  has  broken  my  heart.  Tell  him  I  love  him  more 
than  I  ever  did,  and  that  I  shall  stick  to  him  always." 

Miller  turned  and  took  off  his  hat,  giving  her  his 
hand. 

"And  I  believe  you  will  do  it,"  he  said.  "He's  a 
lucky  dog,  even  if  he  has  just  struck  the  ceiling.  I 
know  him,  and  your  message  will  soften  the  blow. 
But  it's  awful,  simply  awful!  I  can't  now  see  how 
they  can  possibly  get  from  under  it." 

"Well,  tell  him,"  said  Dolly,  with  a  little,  soundless 
sob  in  her  throat — "tell  him  what  I  told  you." 


XXII 

JHAT  afternoon  the  breeze  swerved  round 
'from  the  south,  bringing  vague  threats 
(of  rain.  About  three  o'clock  Alan,  his 
i  uncle,  and  his  mother  and  father  were 
|out  in  the  front  yard,  looking  at  the 
!  house,  with  a  view  to  making  some  al 
terations  that  had  been  talked  of  for  several  years 
past. 

"I  never  had  my  way  in  anything  before,"  Mrs. 
Bishop  was  running  on,  in  the  pleased  voice  of  a  happy 
child,  "and  I'm  glad  you  are  goin'  to  let  me  this  once. 
I  want  the  new  room  to  jut  out  on  this  side  from  the 
parlor,  and  have  a  bay-window,  and  we  must  cut  a 
wide  foldin'-door  between  the  two  rooms.  Then  the 
old  veranda  comes  down  and  the  new  one  must  have 
a  double  floor,  like  Colonel  Sprague's  on  the  river,  ex 
cept  ours  will  have  round,  white  columns  instead  o' 
square,  if  they  do  cost  a  trifle  more." 

"  She  knows  what  she  wants,"  said  Bishop,  with  one 
of  his  infrequent  smiles,  "  and  I  reckon  we'd  save  a  lit 
tle  to  let  her  boss  the  job,  ef  she  don't  hender  the  car 
penters  by  too  much  talk.  I  don't  want  'em  to  put  in 
a  stick  o'  lumber  that  ain't  the  best." 

"I'm  glad  she's  going  to  have  her  way,"  said  Alan. 
"She's  wanted  a  better  house  for  twenty  years,  and 
she  deserves  it." 

"I  don't  believe  in  sech  fine  feathers,"  said  Bishop, 
argumentatively.  "I'd  a  leetle  ruther  wait  till  we  see 

190 


Abner  Daniel 

whether  Wilson  's  a-goin'  to  put  that  road  through — 
then  we  could  afford  to  put  on  a  dab  or  two  o'  style.  I 
don't  know  but  I'd  move  down  to  Atlanta  an'  live 
alongside  o'  Bill,  an'  wear  a  claw-hammer  coat  an'  a 
dicky  cravat  fer  a  change." 

"Then  you  mought  run  fer  the  legislatur'/'  spoke 
up  Abner  Daniel,  who  had  been  an  amused  listener, 
"  an'  git  up  a  law  to  pen  up  mad  dogs  at  the  danger 
ous  part  o'  the  yeer.  Alf,  I've  always  thought  you'd 
be  a'  ornament  to  the  giddy  whirl  down  thar.  William 
was  ever'  bit  as  green  as  you  are  when  he  fust  struck 
the  town.  But  he  had  the  advantage  o'  growin'  up  an' 
sorter  ripenin'  with  the  place.  It  ud  be  hard  on  you 
at  yore  time  o'  life." 

At  this  juncture  Alan  called  their  attention  to  a  horse 
man  far  down  the  road.  "It  looks  like  Ray  Miller's 
mare,"  he  remarked.  "This  is  one  of  his  busy  days; 
he  can't  be  coming  to  fish." 

"Railroad  news,"  suggested  Abner.  "It's  a  pity 
you  hain't  connected  by  telegraph." 

They  were  all  now  sure  that  it  was  Miller,  and  with 
no  little  curiosity  they  moved  nearer  the  gate. 

"By  gum!  he's  been  givin'his  mare  the  lash," said 
Abner.  "  She's  fairly  kivered  with  froth." 

"  Hello,  young  man,"  Alan  called  out,  as  Miller  dis 
mounted  at  a  hitching-post  just  outside  the  fence  and 
fastened  his  bridle-rein.  "Glad  to  see  you;  come  in." 

Miller  bowed  and  smiled  as  he  opened  the  gate  and 
came  forward  to  shake  hands. 

"We  are  certainly  glad  you  came,  Mr.  Miller,"  said 
Mrs.  Bishop,  with  all  her  quaint  cordiality.  "Ever 
since  that  day  in  the  office  I've  wanted  a  chance  to  show 
you  how  much  we  appreciate  what  you  done  fer  us. 
Brother  Ab  will  bear  me  out  when  I  say  we  speak  of 
it  mighty  nigh  ever'  day." 

Miller  wore  an  inexpressible  look  of  embarrassment, 

191 


Abner   Daniel 

which  he  tried  to  lose  in  the  act  of  shaking  hands  all 
round  the  group,  but  his  platitudes  fell  to  the  ground. 
Abner,  the  closest  observer  among  them,  already  had 
his  brows  drawn  together  as  he  pondered  Miller's  un 
wonted  lack  of  ease. 

"  Bring  any  fishing-tackle?"  asked  Alan. 

"No,  1  didn't,"  said  the  lawyer,  jerking  himself  to 
that  subject  awkwardly.  "  The  truth  is,  I  only  ran  out 
for  a  little  ride.  I've  got  to  get  back." 

"Then  it  is  business,  as  brother  Ab  said,"  put  in 
Mrs.  Bishop,  tentatively. 

Miller  lowered  his  eyes  to  the  ground  and  then  raised 
them  to  Alan's  face. 

"Yes,  it's  railroad  business/'  said  Abner,  his  voice 
vibrant  with  suspense. 

"And  it's  not  favorable,"  said  Alan,  bravely.  "I 
can  see  that  by  your  looks." 

Miller  glanced  at  his  mare,  and  lashed  the  leg  of  his 
top-boots  with  his  riding-whip.  "No,  I  have  bad 
news,  but  it's  not  about  the  railroad.  I  could  have 
written,  but  I  thought  I'd  better  come  myself." 

"  Adele !"  gasped  Mrs.  Bishop.    "  You  have  heard — " 

"  No,  she's  well,"  said  Miller.  "  It's  about  the  money 
you  put  in  Craig's  bank." 

"What  about  that?"  burst  from  old  Bishop's  startled 
lips. 

"Craig  claims  Winship  has  absconded  with  all  the 
cash.  The  bank  has  failed." 

"Failed!"  The  word  was  a  moan  from  Bishop,  and 
for  a  moment  no  one  spoke.  A  negro  woman  at  the 
wash-place  behind  the  house  was  using  a  batting-stick 
on  some  clothing,  and  the  dull  blows  came  to  them  dis 
tinctly. 

"Is  that  so,  Ray?"  asked  Alan,  calm  but  pale  to  the 
lips. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  say  it  is/' 


Abner   Daniel 

"Can  anything  at  all  be  done?" 

"I've  done  everything  possible  already.  We  have 
been  telegraphing  the  Atlanta  police  all  morning  about 
tracing  Winship,  but  they  don't  seem  much  interested. 
They  think  he's  had  too  big  a  start  on  us.  You  see, 
he's  been  gone  two  days  and  nights.  Craig  says  he 
thought  he  was  on  a  visit  to  relatives  till  he  discovered 
the  loss  last  night." 

"It  simply  spells  ruin,  old  man/'  said  Alan,  grimly. 
"I  can  see  that." 

Miller  said  nothing  for  a  moment — then : 

"It's  just  as  bad  as  it  could  be,  my  boy,"  he  said. 
"  I  see  no  reason  to  raise  false  hopes.  There  is  a  strong 
feeling  against  Craig,  and  no  little  suspicion,  owing 
to  the  report  that  he  has  been  speculating  heavily,  but 
he  has  thrown  himself  on  the  protection  of  his  church, 
and  even  some  of  his  fellow-members,  who  lose  con 
siderably,  are  standing  by  him." 

Here  old  Bishop,  with  compressed  lips,  turned  and 
walked  unsteadily  into  the  house.  With  head  hang 
ing  low  and  eyes  flashing  strangely,  his  wife  followed 
him.  At  the  steps  she  paused,  her  sense  of  hospital 
ity  transcending  her  despair.  "  You  must  stay  to  early 
supper,  anyway,  Mr.  Miller,"  she  said.  "You  could 
ride  back  in  the  cool  o'  the  evening." 

"Thank  you,  but  I  must  hurry  right  back,  Mrs. 
Bishop,"  Miller  said. 

"And  Dolly — does  she  know?"  asked  Alan,  when 
his  mother  had  disappeared  and  Abner  had  walked 
to  the  hitching-post,  and  stood  as  if  thoughtfully  in 
specting  Miller's  mare.  Miller  told  him  of  their  con 
versation  that  morning,  and  Alan's  face  grew  tender 
and  more  resigned. 

"She's  a  brick!"  said  Miller.  "She's  a  woman  I 
now  believe  in  thoroughly — she  and  one  other." 

"Then  there  is  another?"  asked  Alan,  almost  cheer- 
13  193 


Abner   Daniel 

fully,  as  an  effect  of  the  good  news  that  had  accom 
panied  the  bad. 

"Yes.  I  see  things  somewhat  differently  of  late," 
admitted  Miller,  in  an  evasive,  non-committal  tone. 
"Dolly  Barclay  opened  my  eyes,  and  when  they  were 
open  I  saw — well,  the  good  qualities  of  some  one  else. 
I  may  tell  you  about  her  some  day,  but  I  shall  not  now. 
Get  your  horse  and  come  to  town  with  me.  We  must 
be  ready  for  any  emergency." 

Abner  Daniel  came  towards  them.  "I  don't  want 
to  harm  nobody's  character/'  he  said;  "but  whar  my 
own  kin  is  concerned,  I'm  up  an'  wide  awake.  I  don't 
know  what  you  think,  but  I  hain't  got  a  speck  o'  faith 
in  Craig  hisse'f.  He  done  me  a  low,  sneakin'  trick 
once  that  I  ketched  up  with.  He  swore  it  was  a  mis 
take,  but  it  wasn't.  He's  a  bad  egg — you  mind  what 
I  say;  he  won't  do." 

"It  may  be  as  you  say,  Mr.  Daniel,"  returned  Miller, 
with  a  lawyer's  reserve  on  a  point  unsubstantiated  by 
evidence,  "  but  even  if  he  has  the  money  hidden  away, 
how  are  we  to  get  it  from  him?" 

"  I'd  find  a  way,"  retorted  Daniel,  hotly,  "  so  I  would." 

"We'll  do  all  we  can,"  said  Miller. 

Daniel  strode  into  the  house  and  Alan  went  after 
his  horse.  Miller  stood  at  the  gate,  idly  tapping  his 
boot  with  his  whip. 

"Poor  Mrs.  Bishop!"  he  said,  his  eyes  on  the  house; 
"how  very  much  she  resembled  Adele  just  now,  and 
vshe  is  bearing  it  just  like  the  little  girl  would.  I  reckon 
they'll  write  her  the  bad  news.  I  wish  I  was  there  to— 
soften  the  blow.  It  will  wring  her  heart." 


XXIII 

evening  after  supper  the  family  re- 
tmained,  till  bedtime,  in  the  big,  bare- 
.  looking  dining-room,  the  clean,  polished 
.  floors  of  which  gleamed  in  the  light  of  a 
little  fire  in  the  big  chimney.  Bishop's 
&  chair  was  tilted  back  against  the  wall 
in  a  dark  corner,  and  Mrs.  Bishop  sat  knitting  me 
chanically.  Abner  was  reading — or  trying  to  read — a 
weekly  paper  at  the  end  of  the  dining-table,  aided  by  a 
dimly  burning  glass-lamp.  Aunt  Maria  had  removed 
the  dishes  and,  with  no  little  splash  and  clatter,  was 
washing  them  in  the  adjoining  kitchen. 

Suddenly  Abner  laid  down  his  paper  and  began  to 
try  to  console  them  for  their  loss.  Mrs.  Bishop  listened 
patiently,  but  Bishop  sat  in  the  very  coma  of  despair, 
unconscious  of  what  was  going  on  around  him. 

"Alf,"  Abner  called  out,  sharply,  "don't  you  re 
member  what  a  close-fisted  scamp  I  used  to  be  about 
the  time  you  an'  Betsy  fust  hitched  together?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  the  man  addressed,  almost  with 
a  growl  at  being  roused  from  what  could  not  have  been 
pleasant  reflections. 

"I  remember  folks  said  you  was  the  stingiest  one 
in  our  family,"  struck  in  Mrs.  Bishop,  plaintively. 
"Law  me!  I  hain't  thought  of  it  from  that  day  to 
this.  It  seems  powerful  funny  now  to  think  of  you 
havin'  sech  a  reputation,  but  I  railly  believe  you  had 
it  once." 

195 


Abner  Daniel 

"An*  I  deserved  it,"  Abner  folded  his  paper,  and 
rapped  with  it  on  the  table.  "You  know, Betsy, our 
old  daddy  was  as  close  as  they  make  'em ;  he  had  a  rope 
tied  to  every  copper  he  had,  an'  I  growed  up  thinkin' 
it  was  the  only  safe  course  in  life.  I  was  too  stingy  to 
buy  ginger-cake  an'  cider  at  camp-meetin'  when  I  was 
dyin'  fer  it.  I've  walked  round  an'  round  a  old  nigger 
woman's  stand  twenty  times  with  a  dry  throat  an'  my 
fingers  on  a  slick  dime,  an'  finally  made  tracks  fer  the 
nighest  spring.  I  had  my  eyes  opened  to  stinginess 
bein'  ungodly  by  noticin'  its  effect  on  pa.  He  was  a 
natural  human  bein'  till  a  body  tetched  his  pocket,  an' 
then  he  was  a  rantin'  devil.  I  got  to  thinkin'  I'd  be 
like  'im  by  inheritance  ef  I  didn't  call  a  halt,  an'  I  be 
gun  tryin'  in  various  ways  to  reform.  I  remember  I 
lent  money  a  little  freer  than  I  had,  which  wasn't 
sayin'  much,  fer  thar  was  a  time  when  I  wouldn't  'a' 
sold  a  man  a  postage-stamp  on  a  credit  ef  he'd  'a'  left 
it  stuck  to  the  back  o'  my  neck  fer  security. 

"But  I'll  tell  you  how  I  made  my  fust  great  big 
slide  towards  reformation.  It  tuck  my  breath  away, 
an'  lots  o'  my  money ;  but  I  did  it  with  my  eyes  open. 
I  was  jest  a-thinkin'  a  minute  ago  that  maybe  ef  I  told 
you-uns  about  how  little  it  hurt  me  to  give  it  up  you 
mought  sleep  better  to-night  over  yore  own  shortage. 
Alf,  are  you  listenin'?" 

"Yes,  I  heerd  what  you  said,"  mumbled  Bishop. 

Abner  cleared  his  throat,  struck  at  a  moth  with  his 
paper,  and  continued:  "Betsy,  you  remember  our 
cousin,  Jimmy  Bartow?  You  never  knowed  'im  well, 
beca'se  you  an'  Alf  was  livin'  on  Holly  Creek  about 
that  time,  an'  he  was  down  in  our  neighborhood.  He 
never  was  wuth  shucks,  but  he  twisted  his  mustache 
an'  greased  his  hair  an'  got  'im  a  wife  as  easy  as  fallinT 
off  a  log.  He  got  to  clerkin'  fer  old  Joe  Mason  in  his 
store  at  the  cross-roads,  and  the  sight  o'  so  much  change 

196 


Abner   Daniel 

passin'  through  his  fingers  sort  o'  turned  his  brain. 
He  tuck  to  drinkin',  an'  tryin'  to  dress  his  wife  fine, 
an'  one  thing  or  other,  that  made  folks  talk.  He  was 
our  double  fust  cousin,  you  know,  an'  we  tuck  a  big 
interest  in  'im  on  that  account.  After  a  while  old  Joe 
begun  to  miss  little  dribs  o'  cash  now  an'  then,  an' 
begun  to  keep  tab  on  Jimmy,  an'  'fore  the  young  scamp 
knowed  it,  he  was  ketched  up  with  as  plain  as  day. 

"Old  Joe  made  a  calculation  that  Jimmy  had  done 
'im,  fust  and  last,  to  the  tune  of  about  five  hundred 
dollars,  an'  told  Jimmy  to  set  down  by  the  stove  an' 
wait  fer  the  sheriff. 

"Jimmy  knowed  he  could  depend  on  the  family 
pride,  an'  he  sent  fer  all  the  kin  fer  miles  around.  It 
raised  a  awful  rumpus,  fer  not  one  o'  our  stock  an' 
generation  had  ever  been  jailed,  an'  the  last  one  of  us 
didn't  want  it  to  happen.  I  reckon  we  was  afeerd  ef 
it  once  broke  out  amongst  us  it  mought  become  a 
epidemic.  They  galloped  in  on  the'r  hosses  an'  mules, 
an'  huddled  around  Mason.  They  closed  his  doors, 
back  an'  front,  an'  patted  'im  on  the  back,  an'  talked 
about  the'r  trade  an'  influence,  an'  begged  'im  not  to 
prefer  charges;  but  old  Joe  stood  as  solid  as  a  rock. 
He  said  a  thief  was  a  thief,  ef  you  spelt  it  back'ards  or 
for'ards,  or  ef  he  was  akin  to  a  king  or  a  corn-fiel'  nigger. 
He  said  it  was,  generally,  the  bigger  the  station  the 
bigger  the  thief.  Old  Joe  jest  set  at  his  stove  an'  chawed 
tobacco  an'  spit.  Now  an'  then  he'd  stick  his  hands 
down  in  his  pockets  an'  rip  out  a  oath.  Then  Jimmy's 
young  wife  come  with  her  little  teensy  baby,  an'  set 
down  by  Jimmy,  skeerd  mighty  nigh  out  of  'er  life. 
Looked  like  the  baby  was  skeerd  too,  fer  it  never  cried 
ur  moved.  Then  the  sheriff  driv'  up  in  his  buggy  an' 
come  in  clinkin'  a  pair  o'  handcuffs.  He  seed  what 
they  was  all  up  to  an'  stood  back  to  see  who  would 
win,  Jimmy's  kin  or  old  Joe.  All  at  once  I  tuck  notice 

197 


Abner   Daniel 

o '  something  that  made  me  madder  'n  a  wet  hen.  They 
all  knowed  I  had  money  laid  up,  an'  they  begun  to  ax 
old  Mason  ef  I'd  put  up  the  five  hundred  dollars  would 
he  call  it  off.  I  was  actu'ly  so  mad  I  couldn't  speak. 
Old  Joe  said  he  reckoned,  seein'  that  they  was  all  so 
turribly  set  back,  that  he'd  do  it  ef  I  was  willin'.  The 
Old  Nick  got  in  me  then  as  big  as  a  side  of  a  house,  an' 
I  give  the  layout  about  the  toughest  talk  they  ever 
had.  It  didn't  faze  'em  much,  fer  all  they  wanted  was 
to  git  Jimmy  free,  an'  so  they  tuck  another  tack.  Ef 
they'd  git  up  half  amongst  'em  all,  would  I  throw  in 
t'other  half?  That,  ef  anything,  made  me  madder. 
I  axed  'em  what  they  tuck  me  fer — did  I  look  like  a  durn 
fool?  An'  did  they  think  beca'se  they  was  sech  fools 
I  was  one? 

"Old  Tommy  Todd,  Jimmy's  own  uncle,  was  thar, 
but  he  never  had  a  word  to  say.  He  jest  set  an'  smoked 
his  pipe  an'  looked  about,  but  he  wouldn't  open  his 
mouth  when  they'd  ax  him  a  question.  He  was  knowed 
to  be  sech  a  skinflint  that  nobody  seemed  to  count  on 
his  help  at  all,  an'  he  looked  like  he  was  duly  thankful 
fer  his  reputation  to  hide  behind  in  sech  a  pressure. 

"  Then  they  lit  into  me,  an'  showed  me  up  in  a  light 
I'd  never  appeared  in  before.  They  said  I  was  the 
only  man  thar  without  a  family  to  support,  an'  the 
only  one  thar  with  ready  cash  in  the  bank,  an'  that  ef 
I'd  let  my  own  double  fust  cousin  be  jailed,  I  was  a  dis 
grace  to  'em  all.  They'd  not  nod  to  me  in  the  big  road, 
an'  ud  use  the'r  influence  agin  my  stayin'  in  the  church 
an'  eventually  gittin'  into  the  kingdom  o'  Heaven.  I 
turned  from  man  to  devil  right  thar.  I  got  up  on  the 
head  of  a  tater-barrel  behind  the  counter,  an'  made  the 
blamedest  speech  that  ever  rolled  from  a  mouth  in 
spired  by  iniquity,  I  picked  'em  out  one  by  one  an' 
tore  off  their  shirts,  an'  chawed  the  buttons.  The  only 
one  I  let  escape  was  old  Tommy;  he  never  give  me  a 

198 


Abner   Daniel 

chance  to  hit  him.  Then  I  finally  come  down  to  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar  an'  I  larruped  him.  Ever'  time  I'd 
give  a  yell,  Jimmy  ud  duck  his  head,  an'  his  wife 
ud  huddle  closer  over  the  baby  like  she  was  afeerd 
splinters  ud  git  in  its  eyes.  I  made  fun  of  'em  till  I 
jest  had  to  quit.  Then  they  turned  the'r  backs  on  me 
an'  begun  to  figure  on  doin'  without  my  aid.  It  was 
mortgage  this,  an'  borrow  this,  an'  sell  this  hoss  or 
wagon  or  mule  or  cow,  an'  a  turrible  wrangle.  I  seed 
they  was  gittin'  down  to  business  an'  left  'em. 

"  I  noticed  old  Tommy  make  his  escape,  an'  go  out 
an'  unhitch  his  hoss,  but  he  didn't  mount.  Looked  like 
he  'lowed  he  was  at  least  entitled  to  carryin'  the  news 
home,  whether  he  he'ped  or  not.  I  went  to  the  spring 
at  the  foot  o'  the  rise  an'  set  down.  I  didn't  feel  right. 
In  fact,  I  felt  meaner  than  I  ever  had  in  all  my  life,  an' 
couldn't  'a'  told  why.  Somehow  I  felt  all  at  once  ef 
they  did  git  Jimmy  out  o'  hock  an'  presented  'im  to  his 
wife  an'  baby  without  me  a-chippin'  in,  I'd  never  be 
able  to  look  at  'em  without  remorse,  an'  I  did  think 
a  lots  o'  Jimmy's  wife  an'  baby.  I  set  thar  watchin' 
the  store  about  as  sorry  as  a  proud  sperit  kin  feel  after 
a  big  rage.  Fust  I'd  hope  they'd  git  up  the  required 
amount,  an'  then  I'd  almost  hope  they  wouldn't.  Once 
I  actually  riz  to  go  offer  my  share,  but  the  feer  that  it 
ud  be  refused  stopped  me.  On  the  whole,  I  think  I  was 
in  the  mud  about  as  deep  as  Jimmy  was  in  the  mire, 
an'  I  hadn't  tuck  nobody's  money  nuther.  All  at 
once  I  begun  to  try  to  see  some  way  out  o'  my  predica 
ment.  They  wouldn't  let  me  chip  in,  but  I  wondered 
ef  they'd  let  me  pay  it  all.  I  believed  they  would,  an' 
I  was  about  to  hurry  in  the  store  when  I  was  balked 
by  the  thought  that  folks  would  say  I  was  a  born  idiot 
to  be  payin'  my  lazy,  triflin'  kinfolks  out  o'  the  con 
sequences  o'  the'r  devilment ;  so  I  set  down  agin,  an' 
had  another  wrastle.  I  seed  old  Tommy  standin'  by 

199 


Abner   Daniel 

his  hoss  chawin'  his  ridin '-switch  an'  watchin'  the 
door.  All  at  once  he  looked  mighty  contemptible,  an' 
it  struck  me  that  I  wasn't  actin'  one  bit  better,  so  I  ris 
an'  plunged  fer  the  door.  Old  Tommy  ketched  my 
arm  as  I  was  about  to  pass  'im  an'  said,  'What  you 
goin'  to  do,  Ab?'  An'  I  said,  'Uncle  Tommy,  I'm 
a-goin'  to  pay  that  boy  out  ef  they'll  let  me.' 

'"You  don't  say,'  the  old  fellow  grunted,  lookin' 
mighty  funny,  an'  he  slid  in  the  store  after  me.  Some 
how  I  wasn't  afeerd  o'  nothin'  with  or  without  shape. 
I  felt  like  I  was  walkin'  on  air  in  the  brightest,  saftest 
sunshine  I  ever  felt.  They  was  all  huddled  over  Ma 
son's  desk  still  a-figurin'  an'  a-complainin'  at  the  un 
even  division.  Jimmy  set  thar  with  his  head  ducked 
an'  his  young  wife  was  tryin'  to  fix  some'n'  about  the 
baby.  She  looked  like  she'd  been  cryin.'  I  got  up 
on  my  tater- barrel  an'  knocked  on  the  wall  with  a 
axe-handle  to  attract  the'r  attention.  Then  I  begun. 
I  don't  know  what  I  said,  or  how  it  sounded,  but  I  seed 
Jimmy  raise  his  head  an'  look,  an'  his  wife  push  back 
her  poke-bonnet  an'  stare  like  I'd  been  raised  from  the 
grave.  Along  with  my  request  to  be  allowed  to  foot 
the  whole  bill,  I  said  I  wanted  to  do  it  beca'se  I  believed 
I  could  show  Jimmy  an'  his  wife  that  I  was  doin'  it  out 
o'  genuine  regard  fer  'em  both,  an'  that  I  wanted  'em 
to  take  a  hopeful  new  start  an'  not  be  depressed.  Well, 
sir,  it  was  like  an  avalanche.  I  never  in  all  my  life  seed 
sech  a  knocked  =  out  gang.  Nobody  wanted  to  talk. 
The  sheriff  looked  like  he  was  afeerd  his  handcuffs  ud 
jingle,  an'  Jimmy  bu'st  out  cryin'.  His  wife  sobbed 
till  you  could  'a'  heerd  her  to  the  spring.  She  sprung 
up  an'  fetched  me  her  baby  an'  begged  me  to  kiss  it. 
With  her  big  glad  eyes,  an'  the  tears  in  'em,  she  looked 
nigher  an  angel  than  any  human  bein'  I  ever  looked 
at.  Jimmy  went  out  the  back  way  wipin'  his  eyes, 
an'  I  went  to  Mason's  desk  to  write  him  a  check 

200 


Abner   Daniel 

fer  the  money.  He  come  to  my  elbow  an'  looked 
troubled. 

'"I  said  it  was  five  hundred  dollars/  said  he,  'but  I 
was  sorter  averagin'  the  loss.  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  run 
no  risks  in  a  matter  like  this.  I'd  feel  better  to  call  it 
four  hundred.  You  see,  Jimmy's  been  a  sort  o'  stand 
by  with  me,  an'  has  fetched  me  lots  o'  trade.  Make 
it  four  hundred  and  I'll  keep  'im.  I  don't  believe  he'll 
ever  git  wrong  agin.' 

"  And  Jimmy  never  did.  He  stayed  thar  for  five  yeer 
on  a  stretch,  an'  was  the  best  clerk  in  the  county.  I 
was  paid  a  thousandfold.  I  never  met  them  two  in  my 
life  that  they  didn't  look  jest  like  they  thought  I  was 
all  right,  an'  that  made  me  feel  like  I  was  to  some  ex 
tent.  Old  Tommy,  though,  was  the  funniest  thing 
about  it.  He  bored  me  mighty  nigh  to  death.  He'd 
come  to  my  cabin  whar  I  was  livin'  at  the  time  an'  set 
by  my  fire  an'  smoke  an'  never  say  hardly  a  word.  It 
looked  like  some'n'  was  on  his  mind,  an'  he  couldn't 
git  it  off.  One  night  when  he'd  stayed  longer  'n  usual, 
I  pinned  'im  down  an'  axed  'im  what  was  the  matter. 
He  got  up  quick  an'  said  nothin'  ailded  'im,  but  he 
stopped  at  the  fence  an'  called  me  out.  He  was  as 
white  as  a  sheet  an'  quiverin'  all  over.  Said  he:  'I've 
got  to  have  this  over  with,  Ab.  I  may  as  well  tell  you 
an'  be  done  with  it.  It's  been  botherin'  the  life  out 
o'  me,  an'  I'll  never  git  rid  of  it  till  it's  done.  I  want 
to  pay  you  half  o'  that  money  you  spent  on  Jimmy. 
I  had  the  cash  that  day,  an'  it  'ain't  done  me  one  bit  o' 
good  sence  then.  I'll  never  sleep  well  till  I  go  you 
halvers. ' 

"I  cayn't  sell  that  to  you,  Uncle  Tommy,'  I  said, 
laughin'.  "No,  siree,  you  couldn't  chip  into  that  in 
vestment  cf  you  doubled  yore  offer.  I've  found  out 
what  it  is  wuth.  But/  said  I, '  ef  you've  got  two  hun 
dred  that's  burnin'  a  hole  in  yore  pocket,  ur  conscience, 

201 


Abner    Daniel 

an'  want  to  yank  it  out,  go  give  it  to  Jimmy's  wife  to 
he'p  her  educate  that  baby.' 

"It  struck  'im  betwixt  the  eyes,  but  he  didn't  say 
yes  or  no.  He  slid  away  in  the  moonlight,  all  bent 
over  an'  quiet.  I  never  seed  'im  agin  fer  a  month, 
an'  then  I  called  'im  out  of  a  crowd  o'  fellers  at  the 
court-house  an'  axed  'im  what  he'd  done.  He  looked 
bothered  a  little,  but  he  gave  me  a  straight  look  like 
he  wasn't  ready  to  sneak  out  o'  anything. 

"'I  thought  it  over,'  said  he,  'but  I  railly  don't  see 
no  reason  why  I  ort  to  help  Jimmy's  child  any  more  'n 
a  whole  passle  o'  others  that  have  as  much  claim  on 
me  by  blood ;  but  somehow  I  do  feel  like  goin'  cahoot 
with  you  in  what's  already  been  done,  an'  I'm  still 
ready  to  jine  you,  ef  you  are  willin'.' 

"I  didn't  take  his  money,  but  it  set  me  to  thinkin'. 
When  old  Tommy  died,  ten  years  after  that,  they  found 
he  had  six  wool  socks  filled  with  gold  an'  silver  coin 
under  his  house,  an'  nobody  ever  heerd  o'  his  doin' 
any  charity  work.  I  wish  now  that  I'd  'a'  lifted  that 
cash  an'  'a'  put  it  whar  it  would  do  good.  If  I  had  he'd 
'a'  had  a  taste  o'  some'n'  that  never  glorified  his 
pallet." 

When  Abner  concluded,  Mrs.  Bishop  went  to  the 
fire  and  pushed  the  chunks  together  into  a  heap  in 
the  fireplace.  Bishop  moved  in  his  chair,  but  he  said 
nothing. 

"I  remember  heerin'  about  that,  brother  Ab,"  Mrs. 
Bishop  said,  a  reminiscent  intonation  in  her  voice. 
"Some  folks  wondered  powerful  over  it.  I  don't  be 
lieve  money  does  a  body  much  good  jest  to  hold  an' 
keep.  As  the  Lord  is  my  judge,  I  jest  wanted  that 
bank  deposit  fer  Alan  and  Adele.  I  wanted  it,  an'  I 
wanted  it  bad,  but  I  cayn't  believe  it  was  a  sin." 

Something  like  a  groan  escaped  Bishop's  lips  as  he 
lowered  the  front  posts  of  his  chair  to  the  floor. 

202 


Abner    Daniel 

"What's  the  use  o'  talkin'  about  it?"  he  said,  im 
patiently.  "What's  the  use  o'  anything?" 

He  rose  and  moved  towards  the  door  leading  to  his 
room. 

"Alfred,"  Mrs.  Bishop  called  to  him,  "are  you  goin' 
to  bed  without  holdin'  prayer?" 

"I'm  goin'  to  omit  it  to-night,"  he  said.  "I  don't 
feel  well,  one  bit.  Besides,  I  reckon  each  pusson  kin 
pray  in  private  according  to  the  way  they  feel." 

Abner  stood  up,  and  removing  the  lamp-chimney 
he  lighted  a  candle  by  the  flame. 

"I  tried  to  put  a  moral  lesson  in  what  I  said  just 
now,"  he  smiled,  mechanically,  "but  I  missed  fire. 
Alf's  sufferin'  is  jest  unselfishness  puore  an'  undefiled; 
he  wants  to  set  his  children  up  in  the  world.  This 
green  globe  is  a  sight  better  'n  some  folks  thinks  it  is. 
You  kin  find  a  little  speck  o'  goody  in  mighty  nigh 
ever'  chestnut." 

"That's  so,  brother  Ab,"  said  his  sister;  "but  we 
are  ruined  now — ruined,  ruined!" 

"Ef  you  will  look  at  it  that  wray,"  admitted  Abner, 
reaching  for  his  candle;  "but  thar's  a  place  ahead 
whar  thar  never  was  a  bank,  or  a  dollar,  or  a  railroad, 
an'  it  ain't  fur  ahead,  nuther.  Some  folks  say  it  begins 
heer  in  this  life." 


XXIV 

?S  Abner  Daniel  leaned  over  the  rail- 
i  fence  in  front  of  Pole  Baker's  log-cabin 
one  balmy  day,  two  weeks  later,  he 
saw  evidences  of  the  ex  -  moonshiner's 
•  thrif tlessness  combined  with  an  inor- 
'dinate  love  for  his  children.  A  little 
express-wagon,  painted  red,  such  as  city  children  re 
ceive  from  their  well-to-do  parents  on  Christmas,  was 
going  to  ruin  under  a  cherry-tree  which  had  been  bent 
to  the  ground  by  a  rope-swing  fastened  to  one  of  its 
flexible  boughs.  The  body  of  a  mechanical  speaking- 
doll  lay  near  by,  and  the  remains  of  a  toy  air-rifle. 
After  a  protracted  spree  Pole  usually  came  home  laden 
down  with  such  peace-offerings  to  his  family  and  con 
science.  His  wife  might  go  without  a  needed  gown, 
and  he  a  coat,  but  his  children  never  without  toys. 
Seeing  Abner  at  the  fence,  Mrs.  Baker  came  to  the  low 
door  and  stood  bending  her  head  to  look  out. 

"I  heerd  at  home,"  said  Abner,  "that  Pole  was  over 
thar  axin'  fer  me.  I've  been  away  to  my  peach-orchard 
on  the  hill." 

"Yes,  he's  been  over  thar  twice,"  said  the  woman. 
"  He's  back  of  the  house  some'r's  settin'  a  trap  fer  the 
children  to  ketch  some  birds  in.  I'll  blow  the  horn. 
When  I  blow  twice  he  knows  he's  wanted  right  off." 

She  took  down  a  cow's-horn  from  a  nail  on  the  wall, 
and  going  to  the  door  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  house 
she  gave  two  long,  ringing  blasts,  which  set  half  a 

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Abner   Daniel 

dozen  dogs  near  by  and  some  far  off  to  barking  mel 
lowly.  In  a  few  minutes  Pole  appeared  around  the 
corner  of  the  cabin. 

"  Hello,  Uncle  Ab,"  he  said.     "  Won't  you  come  in?" 
"No,   hain't  time,"   smiled  the  old  man.     "I  jest 
come  over  to  see  how  much  money  you  wanted  to  bor 
row." 

"I  don't  want  any  o'  yo'rn,"  said  Pole,  leaning  over 
the  fence,  his  unbuttoned  shirt  -  sleeves  allowing  his 
brawny,  bare  arms  to  rest  on  the  top  rail.  "I  wanted 
to  talk  to  you  about  Alan  an'  that  bank  bu'st-up." 

"You've  been  to  town,  I  heer,"  said  Abner,  deeply 
interested. 

"Yes,  an'  I've  been  with  Alan  an'  Miller  fer  the  last 
week  tryin'  to  do  some'n',  but  wre  couldn't.  They've 
been  sendin'  telegrams  by  the  basketful,  an'  Jeff  Dukes 
has  trotted  his  legs  off  back  an'  forth,  but  nothin' 
hain't  been  done." 

"  You  say  the'  hain't?"  Abner's  voice  quivered  and 
fell. 

"No;  they  both  kept  up  the'r  sperits  purty  well  fer 
about  ten  days  beca'se  that  dang  Atlanta  chief  of 
police  kept  wirin'  he  was  on  a  scent  o'  Winship;  but 
day  before  yesterday  they  give  in.  We  was  a-settin' 
in  Miller's  office  when  the  last  message  come  from 
Atlanta.  They  said  they'd  been  after  the  wrong  man, 
an'  that  they'd  give  up.  You  ort  to  'a'  seed  Alan's  face. 
Miller  tried  to  cheer  'im  up,  but  it  wasn't  no  go.  Then 
who  do  you  think  come?  Alan's  sweetheart.  She 
axed  to  see  'im,  an'  they  talked  awhile  in  the  front 
room;  then  Miller  come  back  an'  said  she'd  axed  to 
be  introduced  to  me.  Jest  think  of  it!  1  went  in  and 
seed  she'd  been  a-cryin'.  She  got  up,  by  jinks!  an' 
ketched  my  hand  an'  said  she  wanted  to  thank  me 
beca'se  I'd  been  sech  a  friend  to  Alan.  Uncle  Ab,  I 
felt  as  mean  as  a  egg-suckin'  dog,  beca'se  thar  was 

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Abner   Daniel 

Alan  flat  o'  his  back,  as  the  feller  said,  an'  I  hadn't 
turned  a  hand  to  he'p  'im.  And  thar  she  was,  the 
gal  he  loves  an'  wants,  an'  his  poverty  standin'  be 
twixt  'ern.  I  couldn't  say  nothin',  an'  I  reckon  I 
looked  more  kinds  of  a  damn  fool  than  she  ever  seed 
on  two  legs." 

"Well,  what  did  you  do?"  asked  Abner,  too  much 
moved  by  Pole's  graphic  picture  to  speak  with  his 
usual  lightness 

"What  did  I  do?  I  made  my  bow  an'  slid.  I  made 
a  bee-line  fer  Murray's  bar  an'  put  two  down  as  fast 
as  they  could  shovel  'em  out.  Then  I  tuck  another,  an' 
quit  countin'.  I  begun  to  think  I  owned  the  shebang, 
an'  broke  several  billiard-cues  an'  throwed  the  chalk 
around.  Then  Dukes  come  an'  said  he'd  give  me  a 
chance  to  escape  trial  fer  misconduct,  ef  I'd  straddle 
my  hoss  an'  make  fer  home.  I  agreed,  but  thar  was 
one  thing  I  had  to  do  fust.  I  had  promised  Alan  not 
to  drink  any  more,  an'  so  I  didn't  want  to  sneak  away 
to  hide  it.  I  went  to  Miller's  house,  whar  he's  stayin', 
an'  called  'im  out.  I  told  'im  I'd  jest  come  fer  no  other 
reason  'an  to  let  'im  see  me  at  my  wust.  I  felt  like  it 
was  the  only  manly  way,  after  I'd  broke  faith  with  a 
friend  as  true  as  he  is." 

"  Too  bad !"  sighed  Abner.  "  I'll  bet  it  hurt  Alan  to 
see  you  in  that  fix." 

"Well,  he  didn't  complain,"  said  Pole.  "But  he 
put  his  arm  around  me  an'  come  as  nigh  cry  in'  as  I 
ever  seed  a  strong  man.  'It's  my  fault,  Pole,'  ses  he. 
'I  can  see  that.'  Then  him  an'  Miller  both  tried  to  git 
me  to  go  up-stairs  in  that  fine  house  an'  go  to  bed  an' 
sleep  it  off,  but  I  wouldn't.  I  come  on  home  an'  got 
mad  at  Sally  fer  talkin'  to  me,  an'  come  as  nigh  as 
peas  hittin'  'er  in  the  jaw.  But  that's  over,  Uncle  Ab. 
What  I'm  in  fer  now  is  work.  I  ain't  no  fool.  I'm  on  a 
still  hunt,  an'  I  jest  want  yore  private  opinion.  I  don't 

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Abner   Daniel 

want  you  to  commit  yorese'f,  unless  you  want  to;  but 
I'd  go  more  on  yore  jedgment  than  any  man's  in  this 
county.  I  want  to  know  ef  you  think  old  Craig  is  a 
honest  man  at  heart.  Now  don't  say  you  don't  know, 
an'  keep  yore  mouth  shet;  fer  what  I  want  to  know, 
an'  all  I  want  to  know,  is  how  you  feel  about  that  one 
thing." 

Abner  hung  his  head  down.  His  long  thumb  trem 
bled  as  its  nail  went  under  a  splinter  on  the  rail  and 
pried  it  off. 

"I  see  what  you  are  a-drivin'  at,"  he  said.  "You 
jest  want  to  feel  shore  o'  yore  ground."  Abner  began 
to  chew  the  splinter  and  spit  out  the  broken  bits.  He 
was  silent,  under  Pole's  anxious  gaze,  for  a  minute, 
and  then  he  laughed  dryly.  "  I  reckon  me  'n'  you  has 
about  the  same  suspicions,"  he  said.  "That  p'int's 
been  worryin'  me  fer  several  days,  an'  I  didn't  let  it 
end,  thar  nuther." 

"Ah!  you  didn't?"  exclaimed  Baker.  "You  say 
you  didn't,  Uncle  Ab?" 

"No;  I  got  so  I  couldn't  lie  down  at  night  without 
the  idea  poppin'  into  my  head  that  maybe  Craig  had 
made  a  tool  of  Winship  fer  some  minor  crime  an'  had 
hustled  'im  out  o'  the  country  so  he  could  gobble  up 
what  was  in  the  bank  an'  pose  as  a  injured  man  in 
the  community." 

"Same  heer,  pine  blank!"  said  Pole,  eagerly. 
"What  did  you  do,  Uncle  Ab?" 

"  I  went  to  Darley  an'  attended  his  church  last  Sun 
day,"  replied  the  old  man,  a  tense  expression  in  his 
eyes.  "I  got  a  seat  in  the  amen-corner,  whar  I  could 
see  him,  an'  all  through  preachin'  I  watched  'im  like  a 
hawk.  He  didn't  look  to  me  like  a  man  who  had  bu'sted 
on  wind  alone.  He  had  a  fat,  oily,  pink  look,  an' 
when  they  axed  'im  to  lead  in  prayer  it  looked  to  me 
like  he  was  talkin'  more  to  the  people  'an  he  was  to 

207 


Abner   Daniel 

God.  I  didn't  like  his  whine,  an'  what  he  said  didn't 
seem  to  come  from  the  cellar.  But  I  seed  that  he  was 
makin'  converts  to  his  side  as  fast  as  a  dog  kin  trot. 
The  Presbyterians  an'  Baptists  has  been  accusin'  the 
Methodists  o'  packin'  more  bad  eggs  'an  they  have, 
an'  it  looks  like  Craig's  crowd's  a-goin'  to  swear  he's 
fresh  whether  he  is  or  not.  After  meetin'  was  over  I 
walked  ahead  of  him  an'  his  fine  lady,  who  has  made 
the  mistake  o'  tryin'  to  kiver  the  whole  business  up 
with  silk  an'  feathers,  an'  waited  fer  'em  nigh  the'r 
gate.  I  told  'im  I  wanted  a  word  with  'im,  an'  they 
axed  me  in  the  parlor.  I  smelt  dinner,  but  they  didn't 
mention  it.  I  wasn't  goin'  to  eat  thar  nohow.  Well, 
I  set  in  an'  jest  told  Craig  what  had  been  troublin'  me. 
I  said  the  loss  o'  my  folk's  money  was  as  bad  as  death, 
an'  that  thar'd  been  so  much  talk  agin  him,  an'  sus 
picion,  that  I  had  jest  come  to  headquarters.  Ef  he 
had  any  money  laid  away,  I  was  thar  to  tell  'im  it  never 
would  do  'im  any  good,  an'  ef  he  didn't,  I  wanted  to 
beg  his  pardon  fer  my  evil  thoughts,  an'  try  to  git  the 
matter  off'n  my  mind." 

"Good  God!  did  you  railly  tell  'im  that,  Uncle  Ab?" 
"Yes,  an'  I  had  a  deep-laid  reason.  I  wanted  to 
make  'im  mad  an'  study  'im.  He  did  git  mad.  He 
was  as  red  as  a  dewberry,  an'  quivered  from  head  to 
foot.  Thar's  two  kinds  o'  mad — the  justified  an'  the 
unjustified.  Make  a  good  man  rail  mad  by  accusin' 
'im,  an'  he'll  justify  hisse'f  or  bu'st ;  but  ef  you  make  a 
bad  un  mad  by  accusin'  'im,  he'll  delight  in  showin' 
you  he's  done  wrong — ef  it  hurts  you  an'  he's  safe. 
Thar's  right  whar  I  landed  Craig.  He  had  the  look, 
as  plain  as  day,  o'  sayin', '  Yes,  dang  you,  I  did  it,  an' 
you  cayn't  he'p  yorese'f!'  His  wife  had  gone  in  the 
back  part  o'  the  house,  an'  after  a  while  I  heerd  her 
new  shoes  a-creakin'  at  the  door  betwixt  the  two  rooms. 
Now  a  pair  o'  shoes  don't  walk  up  to  a  door  squeakin' 

208 


Abner    Daniel 

like  mice  an'  then  stop  all  of  a  sudden  without  reason. 
I  knowed  she  was  a-listenin',  an'  I  determined  she 
should  not  heer  me  say  she  was  purty.  I  told  'im 
louder  'an  ever  that  folks  was  a-talkin',  an'  a-talkin', 
an'  that  fetched  her.  She  flung  open  the  door  an'  faced 
me  as  mad  as  a  turtle  on  its  back.  She  showed  her 
hand,  too,  an'  I  knowed  she  was  in  cahoot  with  'im. 
She  cussed  me  black  an'  blue  fer  a  uncouth,  meddlin' 
devil,  an'  what  not." 

" By  gum!"  said  Pole,  his  big  eyes  expanding.  "  But 
you  didn't  gain  much  by  that,  did  you?" 

"Jest  satisfied  myself  that  Alan's  money — or  some 
of  it — wasn't  out  o'  creation,  that's  all." 

"I  have  my  reasons  fer  believin'  like  you  do,"  said 
Pole. 

"You  say  you  have." 

Pole  glanced  furtively  over  his  shoulder  at  his  cabin 
to  see  that  no  one  was  within  hearing,  then  said: 

"You  know  Winship  is  old  Fred  Parson's  nephew. 
Well,  old  Fred's  always  been  a  stanch  friend  to  me. 
We  moonshined  it  together  two  yeer,  though  he  never 
knowed  my  chief  hidin '-place.  In  fact,  nobody  knows 
about  that  spot,  Uncle  Ab,  even  now.  Well,  I  had  a 
talk  with  him  an'  axed  his  opinion  about  his  nephew. 
He  talks  as  straight  as  a  shingle,  an'  he  ain't  no  idiot. 
He  says  it's  all  bosh  about  Winship  takin'  away  all 
that  boodle." 

"He  does,  does  he?"  Abner  nodded,  as  if  to  himself. 

"  Yes,  and  he  don't  claim  Winship  ain't  guilty,  nuther ; 
he  jest  holds  that  he  was  too  small  a  dabbler  in  devil 
ment.  He  thinks,  as  I  do,  that  Craig  run  'im  off  with 
threats  of  arrest  an'  picked  that  chance  to  bu'st.  He 
thinks  Winship's  in  a  safe  place  an'  never  will  be 
fetched  back." 

Abner  drew  himself  up  straight. 

"Have  you  talked  to  Alan  an'  Miller  on  that  line?" 
M  209 


Abner   Daniel 

"  Tried  to,"  grunted  Pole,  in  high  disgust,  "  but  Mil 
ler  says  it's  no  good  to  think  of  accusin'  Craig.  He 
says  we  can't  prove  a  thing  on  'im,  unless  we  ketch 
Winship.  He  says  that  sort  of  a  steal  is  the  easiest 
thing  on  earth,  an'  that  it's  done  every  day.  But 
that's  beca'se  he  was  fetched  up  in  the  law,"  Pole  fin 
ished.  "We-uns  out  heer  in  the  mountains  kin  fish 
up  other  ways  o'  fetchin'  a  scamp  to  time  without 
standin'  'im  up  before  a  thick-headed  jury,  or  lettin' 
'im  out  on  bond  till  he  dies  o'  old  age.  You've  got 
sense  enough  to  know  that,  Uncle  Ab." 

The  slanting  rays  of  the  setting  sun  struck  the  old 
man  in  the  face.  There  was  a  tinkle  of  cow-bells  in 
the  pasture  below  the  cabin.  The  outlaw  in  Pole 
Baker  was  a  thing  Abner  Daniel  deplored;  and  yet, 
to-day  it  was  a  straw  bobbing  about  on  the  troubled 
waters  of  the  old  man's  soul  towards  which,  if  he  did 
not  extend  his  hand,  he  looked  interestedly.  A  grim 
expression  stole  into  his  face,  drawing  the  merry  lines 
down  towards  his  chin. 

"I  wouldn't  do  nothin'  foolhardy,"  he  said. 

Pole  Baker  grunted  in  sheer  derision.  "I've  done 
fool  things  whar  thar  wasn't  a  thing  to  be  made  by 
'em.  By  gum!  I'd  do  ten  dozen  fer  jest  a  bare  chance 
o'  shakin'  that  wad  o'  cash  in  Alan  Bishop's  face,  an' 
so  would  you,  dern  yore  hide — so  would  you,  Uncle  Ab 
Daniel!" 

Abner  blinked  at  the  red  sun. 

"The  boy's  been  bad  treated,"  he  said,  evasively; 
"  bad,  bad,  bad!  It's  squeezed  life  an'  hope  out  o'  him." 

"  Well,  you  are  a  church-member,  an'  so  fur  in  good- 
standin',"  said  Pole,  "an'  I  ain't  agoin'  to  pull  you 
into  no  devilment ;  but  ef  I  see  any  way — I  say  ef  I  see 
any  way,  I'll  come  an'  tell  you  the  news." 

"I  wouldn't  do  nothin'  foolhardy,"  said  Abner, 
and  turned  to  go.  He  paused  a  few  paces  away  and 

210 


Abner   Daniel 

said,  "I  wouldn't  do  nothin'  foolhardy,  Pole."  He 
motioned  towards  the  cabin.  "You've  got  them  in 
thar  to  look  after." 

Pole  let  him  walk  on  a  few  paces,  then  he  climbed 
over  the  fence  and  caught  him  up.  He  drew  the  piece 
of  quartz  containing  the  tiny  nugget  of  gold  from  his 
pocket,  which  he  had  shown  Abner  and  Dole  on  a 
former  occasion.  "You  see  that,  Uncle  Ab,"  he  said. 
"  That  dirty  rock  is  like  friendship  in  general,  but  that 
little  yaller  lump  is  like  my  friendship  fer  Alan  Bishop. 
It's  the  puore  thing,  solid  an'  heavy,  an'  won't  lose 
color.  You  don't  know  when  that  boy  done  his  first 
favor  to  me.  It  was  away  back  when  we  was  boys 
together.  A  feller  at  Treadwell's  mill  one  day,  behind 
my  back,  called  me  a  bad  name — a  name  no  man  will 
take  or  can.  He  used  my  mother's  name,  God  bless  her ! 
as  puore  an'  holy  a  woman  as  ever  lived,  to  git  back  at 
me.  He  hadn't  no  sooner  spoke  it  than  Alan  was  at 
his  throat  like  a  wild-cat.  The  skunk  was  bigger  'n 
him,  but  Alan  beat  'im  till  he  was  black  all  over.  I 
never  heerd  about  it  till  about  two  weeks  after  it  hap 
pened  an'  the  feller  had  moved  out  West.  Alan 
wouldn't  let  nobody  tell  me.  I  axed  'im  why  he  hadn't 
let  me  know.  'Beca'se/  ses  he,  'you'd  'a  killed  'im 
an'  'a'  got  into  trouble,  an'  he  wasn't  wuth  it.'  That's 
what  he  said,  Uncle  Ab."  Pole's  big-jawed  face  was 
full  of  struggling  emotion,  his  voice  was  husky,  his 
eyes  were  filling.  "  That's  why  it's  a-killin'  me  to  see 
'im  robbed  of  all  he's  got — his  pride,  his  ambition,  an' 
the  good  woman  that  loves  'im.  Huh !  ef  I  jest  knoived 
that  pie-faced  hypocrite  had  his  money  he  wouldn't 
have  it  long/' 

"I  wouldn't  do  nothin'  foolhardy,  Pole."  Abner 
looked  into  the  fellow's  face,  drew  a  long,  trembling 
breath,  and  finished,  "I  wouldn't — but  I'll  be  durned 
ef  I  know  what  I'd  do!" 

211 


XXV 

JHE  following  morning  Pole  rose  before 
'daylight  and  rode  to  Darley.  As  he 
reached  the  place,  the  first  rays  of  the 
sun  were  touching  the  slate  -  covered 
!  spire  of  the  largest  church  in  town. 
I  He  went  to  a  public  wagon -yard  and 
hitched  his  horse  to  one  of  the  long  racks.  A  moun 
tain  family  he  knew  slightly  had  camped  in  the  yard, 
sleeping  in  their  canvas  -  covered  wagon,  and  were 
making  coffee  over  a  little  fire.  Pole  wanted  a  cup  of 
the  beverage,  but  he  passed  on  into  a  grocery  -  store 
across  the  street  and  bought  a  dime's  worth  of  cheese 
and  hard-tack  crackers.  This  was  his  breakfast.  He 
washed  it  down  with  a  dipper  of  water  from  the  street 
well,  and  sat  around  the  store  chatting  with  the  clerk, 
who  was  sprinkling  the  floor,  and  sweeping  and  dust 
ing  the  long  room.  The  clerk  was  a  red-headed  young 
man  with  a  short,  bristling  mustache,  and  a  suit  of 
clothes  that  was  too  large  for  him. 

"Don't  Mr.  Craig  stay  around  Fincher's  warehouse 
a  good  deal?"  Pole  asked,  as  the  clerk  rested  for  a  mo 
ment  on  his  broom  near  him. 

"  Mighty  nigh  all  day  long/'  was  the  reply ;  "  him  an' 
Fincher's  some  kin,  I  think." 

"On  his  wife 's  side/'  said  Pole.  "I  want  to  see 
Mr.  Craig.  I  wonder  ef  he'll  be  down  thar  this 
mornin'." 

"Purty  apt/1  said  the  clerk.     "Fincher's  his  best 

212 


Abner   Daniel 

friend  sence  his  bu'st-up,  an'  they  are  mighty  thick.  I 
reckon  he  gits  the  cold-shoulder  at  a  lots  o'  places." 

"You  don't  say!" 

"An'  of  course  he  wants  somewhar  to  go  besides 
home.  In  passing  I've  seed  'im  a-figurin'  several 
times  at  Fincher's  desk.  They  say  he's  got  some  no 
tion  o'  workin'  fer  Fincher  as  his  bookkeeper." 

"Well,  he'll  have  to  make  a  livin'  some  way,"  said 
Pole. 

The  clerk  laughed  significantly. 

"Ef  it  ain't  already  made/'  said  he,  with  a  smile. 

Pole  stood  up.  "  I  don't  think  that's  right/'  he  said, 
coldly.  "  Me  nur  you,  nur  nobody,  hain't  got  no  right 
to  hint  at  what  we  don't  know  nothin'  about.  Mr. 
Craig  may  'a'  lost  ever'  cent  he  had." 

"In  a  pig's  valise!"  sneered  the  red-headed  man. 
" I'd  bet  my  hat  he's  got  money — an'  plenty  of  it,  huh!" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  nothin'  about  it,"  said  Pole, 
still  coldly.  "An'  what's  more,  Dunn,  I  ain't  a-goin' 
about  smirchin'  any  helpless  man's  character,  nuther. 
Ef  I  knowed  he  had  made  by  the  bu'st  I'd  talk  different, 
but  I  don't  know  it!" 

"Oh,  I  see  which  side  you  are  on,  Baker,"  laughed 
the  clerk.  "  Folks  are  about  equally  divided.  Half  is 
fer  'im  an'  half  agin.  But  mark  my  words,  Craig  will 
slide  out  o'  this  town  some  day,  an'  be  heerd  of  after 
a  while  a-gittin'  started  agin  some'r's  else.  That  racket 
has  been  worked  to  death  all  over  the  country." 

Pole  carried  the  discussion  no  further.  Half  an 
hour  passed.  Customers  were  coming  in  from  the 
wagon-yard  and  examining  the  wares  on  the  counters 
and  making  slow  purchases.  The  proprietor  came  in 
and  let  the  clerk  go  to  breakfast.  Pole  stood  in  the 
doorway,  looking  up  the  street  in  the  direction  of  Craig's 
residence.  Presently  he  saw  the  ex-banker  coming 
from  the  post-office,  reading  his  mail.  Pole  stepped 

21.1 


Abner    Daniel 

back  into  the  store  and  let  him  go  by ;  then  he  went  to 
the  door  again  and  saw  Craig  go  into  Fincher's  ware 
house  at  the  end  of  the  next  block  of  straggling,  wooden 
buildings.  Pole  sauntered  down  the  sidewalk  in  that 
direction,  passing  the  front  door  of  the  warehouse 
without  looking  in.  The  door  at  the  side  of  the  house 
had  a  long  platform  before  it,  and  on  it  Fincher,  the 
proprietor,  was  weighing  bales  of  hay  which  were  be 
ing  unloaded  from  several  wagons  by  the  countrymen 
who  were  disposing  of  it. 

"Hello,  Mr.  Fincher,"  Pole  greeted  him,  familiarly. 
"Want  any  help  unloadm'?" 

"Hello,  Baker,"  said  Fincher,  looking  up  from  the 
blank-book  in  which  he  was  recording  the  weights. 
"No,  I  reckon  they  can  handle  it  all  right."  Fincher 
was  a  short,  fat  man,  very  bald,  and  with  a  round, 
laughing  face.  He  had  known  Pole  a  long  time  and 
considered  him  a  most  amusing  character.  "  How  do 
you  come  on,  Pole?" 

"  Oh,  about  as  common.  I  jest  thought  them  fellers 
looked  sorter  light-weight." 

The  men  on  the  wagon  laughed  as  they  thumped  a 
bale  of  hay  on  to  the  platform.  "  You'd  better  dry  up," 
one  of  them  said.  "  Well  git  the  mayor  to  put  you  to 
work  agin." 

"  Well,  he'll  have  to  be  quicker  about  it  than  he  was 
the  last  time,"  said  Pole,  dryly. 

Some  one  laughed  lustily  from  behind  a  tall  stack  of 
wheat  in  bags  in  the  warehouse.  It  was  Lawyer  Tra- 
bue.  He  came  round  and  picked  up  Fincher's  daily 
paper,  as  he  did  every  morning,  and  sat  down  and 
began  to  read  it. 

"Now  you  are  talkin',"  he  said.  "Thar  was  more 
rest  in  that  job,  Pole,  than  any  you  ever  undertook. 
They  tell  me  you  didn't  crack  a  rock." 

Fincher  laughed  as  he  closed  his  book  and  struck 
214 


Abner   Daniel 

Baker  with  it  playfully.  "Pole  was  too  tired  to  do 
that  job/'  he  said.  "He  was  born  that  way." 

"Say,  Mr.  Trabue,"  retaliated  Pole,  "did  you  ever 
heer  how  I  got  the  best  o'  Mr.  Fincher  in  a  chicken 
trade?" 

"  I  don't  think  I  ever  did,  Pole,"  laughed  the  lawyer, 
expectantly.  "How  was  it?" 

"Oh,  come  off,  don't  go  over  that  again,"  said  Fin 
cher,  flushing. 

"  It  was  this  away,"  said  Pole,  with  a  broad,  whole 
some  grin.  "My  cousin,  Bart  Wilks,  was  runnin' 
the  restaurant  under  the  car-shed  about  two  yeer  ago. 
He  was  a  new  hand  at  the  business,  an'  one  day  he 
had  a  awful  rush.  He  got  a  telegram  that  a  train- 
load  o'  passengers  had  missed  connection  at  Chatta 
nooga  an'  would  have  to  eat  with  him.  He  was  pow 
erful  rattled,  runnin'  round  like  a  dog  after  its  tail. 
He  knowed  he'd  have  to  have  a  lot  o'  fryin'  chickens, 
an'  he  couldn't  leave  the  restaurant,  so  he  axed  me  ef 
I'd  take  the  money  an'  go  out  in  town  an'  buy  'em  fer 
'im.  I  consented,  an'  struck  Mr.  Fincher,  who  was 
sellin'  sech  truck  then.  He  'lowed,  you  know,  that  I 
jest  wanted  one,  or  two  at  the  outside,  fer  my  own  use, 
so  when  I  seed  a  fine  coop  out  in  front  an'  axed  the 
price  of  'em  he  kinder  drawed  on  his  beerd  till  his  mouth 
fell  open,  an'  studied  how  he  could  make  the  most  out 
o'  me.  After  a  while  he  said :  '  Well,  Pole,  I'll  make 
'em  ten  cents  apiece  ef  I  pick  'em,  an'  fifteen  ef  you 
pick  'em.'  I  sorter  skeerd  the  chickens  around  an' 
seed  thar  was  two  or  three  tiny  ones  hidin'  under  the 
big  ones,  an'  I  seed  what  he  was  up  to,  but  I  was  ready 
fer  'im.  'All  right/  ses  I,  'you  pick  'em/  Thar  was 
two  or  three  loafers  standin'  round  an'  they  all  laughed 
at  me  when  Mr.  Fincher  got  down  over  the  coop  an' 
finally  ketched  one  about  the  size  of  a  robin  an'  hauled 
it  out.  '  Keep  on  a-pickin'/  ses  I,  an'  he  made  a  grab 

215 


Abner   Daniel 

fer  one  a  little  bigger  an'  handed  it  up  to  me.  Then 
he  stuck  his  hands  down  in  his  pockets,  doin'  his  best 
to  keep  from  laughin'.  The  gang  yelled  then,  but  I 
wasn't  done.  '  Keep  on  a-pickin','  ses  I.  An'  he  got 
down  agin.  An',  sir,  I  got  that  coop  at  about  four 
cents  apiece  less  'n  he'd  paid  fer  'em.  He  tried  to  back, 
but  the  gang  wouldn't  let  'im.  It  was  the  cheapest 
lot  o'  chickens  I  ever  seed.  I  turned  the  little  ones 
out  to  fatten,  an'  made  Wilks  pay  me  the  market-price 
all  round  fer  the  bunch." 

"I'll  be  bound  you  made  some'n'  out  of  it,"  said 
Trabue.  "  Fincher,  did  you  ever  heer  how  that  scamp 
tuck  in  every  merchant  on  this  street  about  two  yeer 
ago?" 

"Never  heerd  anything  except  his  owin'  'em  all," 
said  Fincher,  with  a  laugh. 

"I  could  put  'im  in  the  penitentiary  fer  it,"  affirmed 
the  lawyer.  "You  know  about  that  time  thar  was  a 
powerful  rivalry  goin'  on  among  the  storekeepers. 
They  was  movin'  heaven  an'  earth  to  sell  the'r  big 
stocks.  Well,  one  of  the  spryest  in  the  lot,  Joe  Gay- 
lord,  noticed  that  Pole  was  powerful  popular  with 
mountain-folks,  an'  he  made  'im  a  proposition,  bindin' 
'im  down  to  secrecy.  He  proposed  to  give  Pole  ten  per 
cent,  commission  on  all  the  goods  he'd  he'p  sell  by 
bringin'  customers  in  the  store.  Pole  hesitated,  beca'se, 
he  said,  they  might  find  it  out,  an'  Joe  finally  agreed 
that  all  Pole  would  have  to  do  was  to  fetch  'em  in,  give 
the  wink,  an'  him  an'  his  clerks  would  do  the  rest.  It 
worked  mighty  slick  fer  a  while,  but  Pole  noticed  that 
very  often  the  folks  he'd  fetch  in  wouldn't  be  pleased 
with  the  goods  an'  prices  an'  ud  go  trade  some'r's  else. 
Then  what  do  you  think  the  scamp  did?  He  went  to 
every  store  in  town  an'  made  a  secret  contract  to  git 
ten  per  cent,  on  all  sales,  an'  he  had  the  softest  snap 
you  ever  heerd  of.  He'd  simply  hang  onto  a  gang 

216 


'  Abner  Daniel 

from  the  country,  whether  he  knowed  'em  or  not,  an' 
foller  'em  around  till  they  bought;  then  he'd  walk  up 
an'  rake  in  his  part." 

"1  got  left  once/'  said  Pole,  laughing  with  the 
others.  "One  gang  that  I  stuck  to  all  day  went  over 
to  Melton  an'  bought." 

"Well,  the  merchants  caught  on  after  a  while  an' 
stopped  him,"  said  Trabue;  "but  he  made  good  money 
while  he  was  at  it.  They'd  'a'  sent  'im  up  fer  it,  ef  it 
hadn't  been  sech  a  good  joke  on  'em." 

"1  don't  know  about  that,"  replied  Pole,  thought 
fully.  "1  was  doin'  all  1  agreed,  an'  ef  they  could 
afford  to  pay  ten  per  cent,  to  anybody,  they  mought  as 
well  'a'  paid  it  to  me.  1  drawed  trade  to  the  whole  town. 
The  cigars  an'  whiskey  I  give  away  amounted  to  a 
lots.  I've  set  up  many  a  night  tellin'  them  moss-backs 
tales  to  make  'em  laugh." 

"  Well,  ef  you  ever  git  into  any  trouble  let  me  know/' 
said  Trabue,  as  he  rose  to  go.  "I'll  defend  you  at 
half  price;  you'd  be  a  sight  o'  help  to  a  lawyer.  I'll  be 
hanged  if  I  ever  seed  a  better  case  'an  you  made  out  in 
the  mayor's  court,  an'  you  hadn't  a  thing  to  back  it  up 
with,  nuther." 

The  hay  was  unloaded  and  the  wagons  driven  away. 
Fincher  stood  eying  Pole  with  admiration.  "It's  a 
fact,"  he  said.  "You  could  'a'  made  some'n'  out  o' 
yorese'f,  if  you'd  'a'  been  educated,  an'  had  a  showin'." 

Pole  jerked  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder  at  Craig, 
who  was  standing  in  the  front  door,  looking  out  into 
the  street.  "Everybody  don't  git  a  fair  showin'  in 
this  world,  Mr.  Fincher,"  he  said.  "That  man  Craig 
hain't  been  treated  right." 

The  jovial  expression  died  out  of  the  merchant's 
face,  and  he  leaned  against  the  door-jamb. 

"You  are  right  thar,"  he  said — "dead  right.  He's 
been  mighty  unlucky  and  bad  treated." 

217 


Abner  Daniel 

Pole  grasped  the  brim  of  his  massive  hat,  and  drew 
it  from  his  shaggy  head.  "It  makes  me  so  all-fired 
mad  sometimes,  Mr.  Fincher,  to  heer  folks  a-runnin' 
that  man  down,  that  I  want  to  fight.  I  ain't  no  religious 
man  myse'f,  but  I  respect  one,  an'  I've  always  put 
him  down  in  my  book  as  a  good  man." 

"So've  I,"  said  the  merchant,  and  he  looked  towards 
the  subject  of  their  conversation  and  called  out :  "  Craig, 
oh,  Craig,  come  back  heer  a  minute." 

Pole  put  on  his  hat  and  stared  at  the  ground.  He 
made  a  gesture  as  if  of  protest,  but  refrained  from 
speaking. 

"What's  wanted?"  Craig  came  down  to  them.  He 
was  smoking  a  cigar  and  wore  a  comfortable  look,  as 
if  he  had  been  fighting  a  hard  but  successful  fight  and 
now  heard  only  random  shots  from  a  fleeing  enemy. 

"You  ain't  a  candidate  fer  office,"  laughed  Fincher, 
"  but  nearly  all  men  like  to  know  they've  got  friends. 
This  chap  heer's  been  standin'  up  fer  you.  He  says 
it  makes  him  mad  to  hear  folks  talk  agin  you." 

"Oh,  it's  Baker!"  exclaimed  the  ex-banker,  shaking 
hands  with  Pole  and  beaming  on  him.  "  Well,  I  don't 
know  a  man  I'd  rather  have  for  a  friend,"  he  said, 
smoothly. 

Pole  tossed  his  head,  and  looked  straight  into  the 
speaker's  eye.  "I'm  fer  human  justice,  Mr.  Craig," 
he  said.  "An'  I  don't  think  folks  has  treated  you 
right.  What  man  is  thar  that  don't  now  an'  then 
make  mistakes,  sir?  You've  always  had  means,  an' 
I  never  was  anything  but  a  pore  mountain-boy,  but 
I've  always  looked  on  you  as  a  good  man,  a  law-abidin' 
man,  an'  I  don't  like  to  heer  folks  try  to  blame  you  fer 
what  another  man  done.  When  you  had  plenty,  I  never 
come  nigh  you,  beca'se  I  knowed  you  belonged  to  one 
life  an'  me  another,  but  now  you  are  flat  o'  yore  back, 
sir,  I'm  yore  'friend. " 

218 


Abner   Daniel 

Craig's  face  beamed;  he  pulled  his  beard;  his  eyes 
danced. 

"I'm  glad  there  are  men  in  the  world  like  you, 
Baker,"  he  said.  "I  say  I'm  glad,  and  I  mean  it." 

Fincher  had  begun  to  look  over  the  figures  in  his 
book,  and  walked  to  the  front. 

"  Oh,  my  friendship  ain't  wuth  nothin',"  said  Pole. 
"I  know  that.  I  never  was  in  the  shape  to  he'p  no 
body,  but  I  know  when  a  man's  treated  right  or  wrong." 

"  Well,  if  you  ever  need  assistance,  and  I  can  help 
you,  don't  fail  to  caU  on  me,"  Craig  spoke  with  a  tone 
of  sincerity, 

Pole  took  a  deep  breath  and  lowered  his  voice,  glanc 
ing  cautiously  into  the  house,  as  if  fearful  of  being 
overheard. 

"  Well,  I  do  need  advice,  Mr.  Craig,"  he  said.  "  Not 
money,  nor  nothin'  expensive,  but  I've  laid  awake 
night  after  night  wishing  'at  I  could  run  on  some  man 
of  experience  that  I  could  ax  fer  advice,  an'  that  I  could 
trust.  Mr.  Craig,  I'll  be  blamed  ef  I  don't  feel  like 
tellin'  you  some'n'  that  never  has  passed  my  lips. " 

Craig  stared  in  interested  astonishment.  "Well, 
you  can  trust  me,  Baker,"  he  said;  "and  if  I  can  ad 
vise  you,  why,  I'll  do  it  with  pleasure." 

There  was  a  cotton  compress  near  by,  with  its  vast 
sheds  and  platforms,  and  Pole  looked  at  it  steadily. 
He  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pants  pocket  and  kept  it 
there  for  a  full  minute.  Then  he  shook  his  head, 
drew  out  his  hand,  and  said :  "  I  reckon  I  won't  bother 
you  to-day,  Mr.  Craig.  Some  day  I'll  come  in  town 
an'  tell  you,  but—"  Pole  looked  at  the  sun.  "  I  reckon 
I'd  better  be  goin'." 

"  Hold  on,"  Craig  caught  Pole's  arm.  The  ex- 
banker  was  a  natural  man.  Despite  his  recent  troub 
les,  he  had  his  share  of  curiosity,  and  Pole's  manner 
and  words  had  roused  it  to  unwonted  activity.  "  Hold 

219 


Abner   Daniel 

on/'  he  said.  "What's  your  hurry?  I've  got  time  to 
spare  if  you  have." 

Pole  hung  his  head  for  a  moment  in  silence,  then  he 
looked  the  old  man  in  the  face.  "  Mr.  Craig,"  he  began, 
in  even  a  lower  voice,  "  do  you  reckon  thar's  any  gold 
in  them  mountains?"  Pole  nodded  to  the  blue  wave 
in  the  east. 

Craig  was  standing  near  a  bale  of  cotton  and  he  sat 
down  on  it,  first  parting  the  tails  of  his  long,  black 
coat. 

"I  don't  know;  there  might  be,"  he  said,  deeply  in 
terested,  and  yet  trying  to  appear  indifferent.  "  There 
is  plenty  of  it  in  the  same  range  further  down  about 
Dalonega." 

Pole  had  his  hand  in  the  right  pocket  of  his  rough 
jean  trousers. 

"  Is  thar  anybody  in  this  town  that  could  tell  a  piece 
o'  gold  ef  they  seed  it?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  a  good  many,  I  reckon,"  said  Craig,  a  steely 
beam  of  excitement  in  his  unsteady  eye.  "  I  can,  my 
self.  I  spent  two  years  in  the  gold-mines  of  California 
when  I  was  a  young  man." 

"You  don't  say!  I  never  knowed  that."  Pole  had 
really  heard  of  that  fact,  but  his  face  was  straight.  He 
had  managed  to  throw  into  it  a  most  wonderful  blend 
ing  of  fear  and  over-cautiousness. 

"  Oh  yes ;  I've  had  a  good  deal  of  experience  in  such 
things." 

"You  don't  say!"  Pole  was  looking  towards  the 
compress  again. 

Craig  laughed  out  suddenly,  and  put  his  hand  on 
Pole's  shoulder  with  a  friendly,  downward  stroke. 

"You  can  trust  me,  Baker,"  he  said,  persuasively, 
"and  it  may  be  that  I  could  be  of  assistance  to  you." 

There  was  something  like  an  actual  tremor  of  agita 
tion  in  Pole's  rough  hand  as  he  drew  his  little  nugget 

220 


Abner   Daniel 

from  its  resting-place  at  the  bottom  of  his  pocket.  With 
a  deep,  indrawn  breath,  he  handed  it  to  Craig.  "Is 
that  thar  little  lump  gold  or  not?"  he  asked. 

Craig  started  visibly  as  his  eyes  fell  on  the  piece  of 
gold.  But  he  took  it  indifferently,  and  examined  it 
closely. 

"  Where  did  you  run  across  that?"  he  asked. 

"I  want  to  know  ef  it's  the  puore  thing/'  answered 
Pole. 

Craig  made  another  examination,  obviously  to  de 
cide  on  the  method  he  would  apply  to  a  situation  that 
claimed  all  his  interest. 

"  I  think  it  is,"  he  said ;  "  in  fact,  I  know  it  is. " 

Pole  took  it  eagerly,  thrust  it  back  into  his  pocket, 
and  said: 

"  Mr.  Craig,  I  know  whar  thar's  a  vein  o'  that  stuff 
twenty  yards  thick,  runnin'  clean  through  a  moun 
tain." 

"You  do!"  Craig  actually  paled  under  his  sup 
pressed  excitement. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  an'  I  kin  buy  it,  lock,  stock,  and  barrel, 
fer  five  hundred  dollars — the  feller  that  owns  it  ud  jump 
at  it  like  a  duck  on  a  June-bug.  That's  my  secret,  Mr. 
Craig.  I  hain't  one  dollar  to  my  name,  but  from  this 
day  on  I'm  goin'  to  work  hard  an'  save  my  money  till 
I  own  that  property.  I'm  a-goin'  down  to  Atlanta  next 
week,  whar  people  don't  know  me,  an'  have  a  lump  of 
it  bigger  'n  this  examined,  an'  ef  it's  gold  I'll  own  the 
land  sooner  or  later." 

Craig  glanced  to  the  rear. 

"Come  back  here,"  he  said.  Opening  a  door  at  the 
end  of  the  warehouse,  he  led  Pole  into  a  more  retired 
spot,  where  they  would  be  free  from  possible  interrup 
tion.  Then,  in  a  most  persuasive  voice,  he  continued : 
"  Baker,  you  need  a  man  of  experience  with  you  in 
ihis.  Besides,  if  there  is  as  much  of — of  that  stuff  as 

221 


Abner    Daniel 

you  say  there  is,  you  wouldn't  be  able  to  use  all  you 
could  make  out  of  it.  Now,  it  might  take  you  a  long 
time  to  get  up  the  money  to  buy  the  land,  and  there  is 
no  telling  what  might  happen  in  the  mean  time.  I'm 
in  a  close  place,  but  I  could  raise  five  hundred  dollars, 
or  even  a  thousand.  My  friends  still  stick  to  me,  you 
know.  The  truth  is,  Baker,  I'd  like  the  best  in  the 
world  to  be  able  to  make  money  to  pay  back  what 
some  of  my  friends  have  lost  through  me." 

Pole  hung  his  head.  He  seemed  to  be  speaking 
half  to  himself  and  on  the  verge  of  a  smile  when  he 
replied :  "  I'd  like  to  see  you  pay  back  some  of  'em  too, 
Mr.  Craig." 

Craig  laid  his  hand  gently  on  Pole's  shoulder. 

"  How  about  lettin'  me  see  the  place,  Baker?"  he  said. 

Pole  hesitated,  and  then  he  met  the  ex-banker's 
look  with  the  expression  of  a  man  who  has  resigned 
himself  to  a  generous  impulse. 

"Well,  some  day  when  you  are  a-passin'  my  way, 
stop  in,  an'  I'll—" 

"How  far  is  it?"  broke  in  Craig,  pulling  his  beard 
with  unsteady  fingers. 

"A  good  fifteen  miles  from  heer,"  said  Pole. 

Craig  smiled.  "Nothin'  but  an  easy  ride,"  he  de 
clared.  "  I've  got  a  horse  doin'  nothing  in  the  stable. 
What's  to  hinder  us  from  going  to-day — this  morning 
— as  soon  as  I  can  go  by  for  my  horse?" 

"I  don't  keer,"  said  Pole,  resignedly.  "But  could 
you  manage  to  go  without  anybody  knowin'  whar  you 
was  bound  fer?" 

"Easy  enough,"  Craig  laughed.  He  was  really 
pleased  with  Pole's  extreme  cautiousness. 

"Then  you  mought  meet  me  out  thar  some  Vs." 

"A  good  idea — a  good  idea,  Baker." 

"Do  you  know  whar  the  Ducktown  road  crosses 
Holly  Creek,  at  the  foot  o'  Old  Pine  Mountain?" 

222 


Abner   Daniel 

"As  well  as  I  know  where  my  house  is." 

Pole  looked  at  the  sun,  shading  his  eyes  with  his 
hand. 

"Could  you  be  thar  by  eleven  o'clock?" 

"Easy  enough,  Baker." 

"Well,  I'll  meet  you — I'm  a-goin'  to  trust  you,  Mr. 
Craig,  an'  when  you  see  the  vein,  ef  you  think  thar's 
enough  money  in  it  fer  two — but  we  can  see  about  that 
later." 

"  All  right,  Baker.  I'll  be  there.  But  say,"  as  Pole 
was  moving  away,  "  you  are  a  drinking  man,  and  get  a 
little  off  sometimes.  You  haven't  said  anything  about 
this  where  anybody — " 

Pole  laughed  reassuringly.  "I  never  have  been 
drunk  enough  to  do  that,  Mr.  Craig,  an',  what's  more, 
I  never  will  be." 


XXVI 

',BOUT  noon  that  day,  as  Pole  Baker 
sat  on  a  fallen  tree  near  the  road-side  in 
the  loneliest  spot  of  that  rugged  coun 
try,  his  horse  grazing  behind  him,  he 
saw  Craig  corning  up  the  gradual  in 
cline  from  the  creek.  Pole  stood  up 
and  caught  the  bridle-rein  of  his  horse  and  mut 
tered  : 

"  Now,  Pole  Baker,  durn  yore  hide,  you've  got  brains 
— at  least,  some  folks  say  you  have — an'  so  has  he. 
Ef  you  don't  git  the  best  of  that  scalawag  yo're  done 
fer.  You've  put  purty  big  things  through;  now  put 
this  un  through  or  shet  up." 

"  Well,  heer  you  are/'  merrily  cried  out  the  ex-banker, 
as  he  came  up.  He  was  smiling  expectantly.  "  Your 
secret's  safe  with  me.  I  hain't  met  a  soul  that  I  know 
sence  I  left  town." 

"I'm  glad  you  didn't,  Mr.  Craig,"  Pole  said.  "I 
don't  want  anybody  a-meddlin'  with  my  business." 
He  pointed  up  the  rather  steep  and  rocky  road  that  led 
gradually  up  the  mountain.  "  We've  got  two  or  three 
mile  furder  to  go.  Have  you  had  any  dinner?" 

"  I  put  a  cold  biscuit  and  a  slice  of  ham  in  my  pock 
et,"  said  Craig.  "It  '11  do  me  till  supper." 

Pole  mounted  and  led  the  way  up  the  unfrequented 
road. 

"  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  Mr.  Craig,  that  I  used  to  be 
a  moonshiner  in  these  mountains,  an' — " 

224 


Abner   Daniel 

"  Lord,  I  knew  that,  Baker.  Who  doesn't,  I'd  like  to 
know?" 

Pole's  big-booted  legs  swung  back  and  forth  like 
pendulums  from  the  flanks  of  his  horse. 

"  I  was  a-goin'  to  tell  you  that  1  had  a  hide-out,  whar 
I  kept  stuff  stored,  that  wasn't  knowed  by  one  livin' 
man." 

"  Well,  you  must  have  had  a  slick  place  from  all  I've 
heerd,"  said  Craig,  still  in  his  vast  good-humor  with 
himself  and  everybody  else. 

"The  best  natur'  ever  built,"  said  Pole;  "an'  what's 
more,  it  was  in  thar  that  I  found  the  gold.  I  reckon  it 
ud  'a'  been  diskivered  long  ago,  ef  it  had  'a'  been  above 
ground." 

"Then  it's  in — a  sort  of  cave?"  ventured  Craig. 

" That's  jest  it;  but  I've  got  the  mouth  of  it  closed  up 
so  it  ud  fool  even  a  bloodhound." 

Half  an  hour  later  Pole  drew  rein  in  a  most  isolated 
spot,  near  a  great  yawning  canon  from  which  came  a 
roaring  sound  of  rushing  water  and  clashing  winds. 
The  sky  overhead  was  blue  and  cloudless;  the  air 
at  that  altitude  was  crisp  and  rarefied,  and  held  the 
odor  of  spruce  pine.  With  a  laugh  Pole  dismounted. 
"  What  ef  I  was  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Craig,  that  you  was  in 
ten  yards  o'  my  old  den  right  now." 

Craig  looked  about  in  surprise.  "I'd  think  you 
was  makin'  fun  o'  me — tenderfootin',  as  we  used  to 
say  out  West." 

"I'm  givin'  it  to  you  straight,"  said  Pole,  pointing 
with  his  riding-switch.  "  Do  you  see  that  pile  o' 
rocks?" 

Craig  nodded. 

"  Right  under  them  two  flat  ones  is  the  mouth  o'  my 
den,"  said  Pole.  "Now  let's  hitch  to  that  hemlock, 
an'  I'll  show  you  the  whole  thing." 

When  they  had  fastened  their  horses  to  swinging 
«j  225 


Abner   Daniel 

limbs  in  a  dense  thicket  of  laurel  and  rhododendron 
bushes,  they  went  to  the  pile  of  rocks. 

"I  toted  mighty  nigh  all  of  'em  from  higher  up/' 
Pole  explained.  "Some  o'  the  biggest  I  rolled  down 
from  that  cliff  above." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  are  going  to  get  into  your  hole 
in  the  ground,"  said  Craig,  with  a  laugh  of  pleasant 
anticipation. 

Pole  picked  up  a  big,  smooth  stick  of  hickory,  shaped 
like  a  crowbar,  and  thrust  the  end  of  it  under  the  largest 
rock.  "Huh!  I'll  show  you  in  a  jiffy." 

It  was  an  enormous  stone  weighing  over  three  hun 
dred  pounds;  but  with  his  strong  lever  and  knotted 
muscles  the  ex-moonshiner  managed  to  slide  it  slowly 
to  the  right,  disclosing  a  black  hole  about  two  feet 
square  in  the  ragged  stone.  From  this  protruded  into 
the  light  the  ends  of  a  crude  ladder  leading  down  about 
twenty-five  feet  to  the  bottom  of  the  cave. 

"Ugh!"  Craig  shuddered,  as  he  peered  into  the  dank 
blackness.  "  You  don't  mean  that  we  are  to  go  down 
there?" 

It  was  a  crisis.  Craig  seemed  to  be  swayed  between 
two  impulses  —  a  desire  to  penetrate  farther  and  an 
almost  controlling  premonition  of  coming  danger. 
Pole  met  the  situation  with  his  usual  originality  and 
continued  subtlety  of  procedure.  With  his  big  feet 
dangling  in  the  hole  he  threw  himself  back  and  gave 
vent  to  a  hearty,  prolonged  laugh  that  went  ringing 
and  echoing  about  among  the  cliffs  and  chasms. 

"I  'lowed  this  ud  make  yore  flesh  crawl,"  he  said. 
"Looks  like  the  openin'  to  the  bad  place,  don't  it?" 

"It  certainly  does,"  said  Craig,  somewhat  reas 
sured  by  Pole's  levity. 

"Why,  it  ain't  more  'n  forty  feet  square,"  said  Pole. 
"  Wait  till  I  run  down  an'  make  a  light.  I've  got  some 
fat  pine  torches  down  at  the  foot  o'  the  ladder." 

226 


Abner   Daniel 

"Well,  I  believe  I  will  let  you  go  first/'  said  Craig, 
with  an  uneasy  little  laugh. 

Pole  went  down  the  ladder,  recklessly  thumping  his 
heels  on  the  rungs.  He  was  lost  to  sight  from  above, 
but  in  a  moment  Craig  heard  him  strike  a  match,  and 
vsaw  the  red,  growing  flame  of  a  sputtering  torch  from 
which  twisted  a  rope  of  smoke.  When  it  was  well 
ablaze,  Pole  called  up  the  ladder:  "Come  on,  now, 
an'  watch  whar  you  put  yore  feet.  This  end  o'  the 
ladder  is  solid  as  the  rock  o'  Gibralty." 

The  square  of  daylight  above  was  cut  off,  and  in  a 
moment  the  ex-banker  stood  beside  his  guide. 

"Now  come  down  this  way,"  said  Pole,  and  with  the 
torch  held  high  he  led  the  way  into  a  part  of  the  cham 
ber  where  the  rock  overhead  sloped  down  lower.  Here 
lay  some  old  whiskey-barrels,  two  or  three  lager-beer 
kegs,  and  the  iron  hoops  of  several  barrels  that  had 
been  burned.  There  were  several  one-gallon  jugs  with 
corn-cob  stoppers.  Pole  swept  his  hand  over  them 
with  a  laugh.  "If  you  was  a  drinkin'  man,  I  could 
treat  you  to  a  thimbleful  or  two  left  in  them  jugs,"  he 
said,  almost  apologetically. 

"But  I  don't  drink,  Baker,"  Craig  said.  His  pre 
monition  of  danger  seemed  to  have  returned  to  him, 
and  to  be  driven  in  by  the  dank  coolness  of  the  cavern, 
the  evidence  of  past  outlawry  around  him. 

Pole  heaped  his  pieces  of  pine  against  a  rock,  and 
added  to  them  the  chunks  of  some  barrel-staves,  which 
set  up  a  lively  popping  sound  like  a  tiny  fusillade  of 
artillery. 

"You  see  that  rock  behind  you,  Mr.  Craig?"  asked 
Pole.  "Well,  set  down  on  it.  Before  we  go  any  fur- 
der,  me  'n  you've  got  to  have  a  understanding." 

The  old  man  stared  hesitatingly  for  an  instant, 
and  then,  after  carefully  feeling  of  the  stone,  he  com 
plied. 

227 


Abner  Daniel 

"I  thought  we  already — but,  of  course/'  he  said, 
haltingly,  "I'm  ready  to  agree  to  anything  that'll 
make  you  feel  safe." 

"I  kinder  'lowed  you  would,"  and  to  Craig's  over 
whelming  astonishment  Pole  drew  a  revolver  from  his 
hip-pocket  and  looked  at  it,  twirling  the  cylinder  with 
a  deft  thumb. 

"  You  mean,  Baker — "  But  Craig's  words  remained 
unborn  in  his  bewildered  brain.  The  rigor  of  death 
itself  seemed  to  have  beset  his  tongue.  A  cold  sweat 
broke  out  on  him. 

"I  mean  that  I've  tuck  the  trouble  to  fetch  you  heer 
fer  a  purpose,  Mr.  Crr^,  an'  thar  ain't  any  use  in  beat- 
in'  about  the  bush  to  gk  at  it." 

Craig  made  another  effort  at  utterance,  but  failed. 
Pole  could  hear  his  rapid  breathing  and  see  the  ter 
rified  gleaming  of  his  wide-open  eyes. 

"  You've  had  a  lots  o'  dealin's,  Mr.  Craig,"  said  Pole. 
"  You've  made  yore  mistakes  an'  had  yore  good  luck, 
but  you  never  did  a  bigger  fool  thing  'an  you  did  when 
you  listened  to  my  tale  about  that  lump  o'  gold." 

"You've  trapped  me!"  burst  from  Craig's  quiver 
ing  lips. 

"That's  about  the  size  of  it." 

"  But — why?"  The  words  formed  the  beginning  and 
the  end  of  a  gasp. 

Pole  towered  over  him,  the  revolver  in  his  tense  hand. 

"Mr.  Craig,  thar  is  one  man  in  this  world  that  I'd 
die  fer  twenty  times  over.  I  love  'im  more  than  a 
brother.  That  man  you've  robbed  of  every  dollar 
an'  hope  on  earth.  I've  fetched  you  heer  to  die  a  lin- 
gerin'  death,  ef — ef,  I  say,  ef — you  don't  refund  his 
money.  That  man  is  Alan  Bishop,  an'  the  amount 
is  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  to  a  cent." 

"But  I  haven't  any  money,"  moaned  the  crouch 
ing  figure;  "not  a  dollar  that  I  kin  lay  my  hands  on." 

228 


Abner  Daniel 

"  Then  you  are  in  a  damn  bad  fix/'  said  Pole.  "  Un 
less  I  git  that  amount  o'  money  from  you  you'll  never 
smell  a  breath  o'  fresh  air  or  see  natural  daylight." 

"You  mean  to  kill  a  helpless  man?"  The  words 
were  like  a  prayer. 

"I'd  bottle  you  up  heer  to  die,"  said  Pole  Baker, 
firmly.  "  You've  met  me  in  this  lonely  spot,  an'  no 
man  could  lay  yore  end  to  me.  In  fact,  all  that  know 
you  would  swear  you'd  run  off  from  the  folks  you've 
defrauded.  You  see  nothin'  but  that  money  o'  Alan 
Bishop's  kin  possibly  save  you.  You  know  that  well 
enough,  an'  thar  ain't  a  bit  o'  use  palaverin'  about  it. 
I've  fetched  a  pen  an'  ink  an'  paper,  an'  you've  got  to 
write  me  an  order  fer  the  money.  If  I  have  to  go  as 
fur  off  as  Atlanta,  I'll  take  the  fust  train  an'  go  after 
it.  If  I  git  the  money,  you  git  out,  ef  I  don't  you  won't 
see  me  agin,  nur  nobody  else  till  you  face  yore  Maker." 

Craig  bent  over  his  knees  arid  groaned. 

"You  think  I  have  money/'  he  said,  straightening 
up.  "Oh,  my  God!" 

"I  knoiv  it,"  said  Pole.  "I  don't  think  anything 
about  it — I  know  it." 

He  took  out  the  pen  and  ink  from  his  pants  pocket 
and  unfolded  a  sheet  of  paper.  "  Git  to  work,"  he  said. 
"You  needn't  try  to  turn  me,  you  damned  old  hog!" 

Craig  raised  a  pair  of  wide-open,  helpless  eyes  to  the 
rigid  face  above  him. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  he  said,  again. 

"  You  let  God  alone  an'  git  down  to  business,"  said 
Pole,  taking  a  fresh  hold  on  the  handle  of  his  weapon. 
"I'm  not  goin'  to  waste  time  with  you.  Either  you 
git  me  Alan  Bishop's  money  or  you'll  die.  Hurry 
up!" 

"  Will  you  keep  faith  with  me — if — if — " 

"Yes,  durn  you,  why  wouldn't  I?"  A  gleam  of  tri 
umph  flashed  in  the  outlaw's  eyes.  Up  to  this  moment 

229 


Abner    Daniel 

he  had  been  groping  in  experimental  darkness.  He 
now  saw  his  way  clearly  and  his  voice  rang  with  dawn 
ing  triumph. 

The  ex-banker  had  taken  the  pen  and  Pole  spread 
out  the  sheet  of  paper  on  his  knee. 

"What  assurance  have  I?"  stammered  Craig,  his 
face  like  a  death-mask  against  the  rock  behind  him. 
"You  see,  after  you  got  the  money,  you  might  think 
it  safer  to  leave  me  here,  thinking  that  I  would  prose 
cute  you.  I  wouldn't,  as  God  is  my  judge,  but  you 
might  be  afraid — " 

"  I'm  not  afraid  o'  nothin'/ '  said  Pole.  "  Old  man, 
you  couldn't  handle  me  without  puttin'  yorese'f  in 
jail  fer  the  rest  o'  yore  life.  That  order's  a-goin'  to  be 
proof  that  you  have  money  when  you've  swore  pub 
licly  that  you  didn't.  No;  when  I'm  paid  back  Alan 
Bishop's  money  I'll  let  you  go.  I  don't  want  to  kill 
a  man  fer  jest  tryin'  to  steal  an'  not  makin'  the  riffle." 

The  logic  struck  home.  The  warmth  of  hope  dif 
fused  itself  over  the  gaunt  form. 

"Then  I'll  write  a  note  to  my  wife,"  he  said. 

Pole  reached  for  one  of  the  torches  and  held  it  near 
the  paper. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  I  won't  have  to  go  furder'n  Darley," 
he  said.  "  It  11  be  better  fer  both  of  us.  By  ridin' 
peert  I  can  let  you  out  before  sundown.  You  may  git 
a  late  supper  at  Darley,  but  it's  a  sight  better  'n  gittin' 
none  heer  an'  no  bed  to  speak  of." 

"I'm  putting  my  life  in  your  hands,  Baker/'  said 
Craig,  and  with  an  unsteady  hand  he  began  to  write. 

"Hold  on  thar,"  said  Pole.  "You'll  know  the  best 
way  to  write  to  her,  but  when  the  money's  mentioned 
I  want  you  to  say  the  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  de 
posited  in  the  bank  by  the  Bishops.  You  see  I'm  not 
goin'  to  tote  no  order  fer  money  I  hain't  no  right  to. 
An'  111  tell  you  another  thing,  old  man,  you  needn't 

230 


Abner   Daniel 

throw  out  no  hint  to  her  to  have  me  arrested.  As  God 
is  my  final  judge,  ef  I'm  tuck  up  fer  this,  they'll  never 
make  me  tell  whar  you  are.  I  'd  wait  until  you'd  pegged 
out,  anyway." 

"  I'm  not  setting  any  trap  for  you,  Baker,"  whined 
Craig.  "You've  got  the  longest  head  of  any  man  I 
ever  knew.  You've  got  me  in  your  power,  and  all  I 
can  ask  of  you  is  my  life.  I've  got  Bishop's  money 
hidden  in  my  house.  I  am  willing  to  restore  it,  if  you 
will  release  me.  I  can  write  my  wife  a  note  that  will 
cause  her  to  give  it  to  you.  Isn't  that  fair?" 

"That's  all  1  want,"  said  Pole;  "an'  I'll  say  this  to 
you,  I'll  agree  to  use  my  influence  with  Alan  Bishop 
not  to  handle  you  by  law;  but  the  best  thing  fer  you 
an'  yore  family  to  do  is  to  shake  the  dirt  of  Barley 
off'n  yore  feet  an'  seek  fresh  pastures.  These  'round 
heer  ain't  as  green,  in  one  way,  as  some  I've  seed." 

Craig  wrote  the  note  and  handed  it  up  to  Baker. 
Pole  read  it  slowly,  and  then  said:  "You  mought  'a' 
axed  'er  to  excuse  bad  writin'  an'  spellin',  ari'  hopin' 
these  few  lines  will  find  you  enjoyin'  the  same  blessin's  ; 
but  ef  it  gits  the  boodle  that's  all  I  want.  Now  you 
keep  yore  shirt  on,  an'  don't  git  skeerd  o'  the  dark 
ness.  It  will  be  as  black  as  pitch,  an'  you  kin  heer 
yore  eyelids  creak  after  I  shet  the  front  door,  but  I'll 
be  back — ef  I  find  yore  old  lady  hain't  run  off  with  a 
handsomer  man  an'  tuck  the  swag  with  'er.  I'm 
glad  you  cautioned  'er  agin  axin'  me  questions." 

Pole  backed  to  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  followed  by 
Craig. 

"Don't  leave  me  here,  Baker,"  he  said,  imploringly. 
"Don't,  for  God's  sake!  I  swear  I'll  go  with  you  and 
get  you  the  money." 

"  1  can't  do  that,  Mr.  Craig;  but  I'll  be  back  as  shore 
as  fate, ef  1  get  that  cash,"  promised  Pole.  "It  all  de 
pends  on  that.  I'll  keep  my  word,  if  you  do  yore'n." 

231 


Abner  Daniel 

"  I  am  going  to  trust  you,"  said  the  old  man,  with  the 
pleading  intonation  of  a  cowed  and  frightened  child. 

After  he  had  gotten  out,  Pole  thrust  his  head  into 
the  opening  again.  "  It  '11  be  like  you  to  come  up  heer 
an'  try  to  move  this  rock,"  he  called  out,  "but  you 
mought  as  well  not  try  it,  fer  I'm  goin'  to  add  about  a 
dump-cart  load  o'  rocks  to  it  to  keep  the  wolves  from 
diggin'  you  out." 


XXVII 

[AYBURN  MILLER  and  Alan  spent 
that  day  on  the  river  trying  to  catch 
'  fish,  but  with  no  luck  at  all,  returning 
i  empty-handed  to  the  farm-house  for  a 
late  dinner.  They  passed  the  afternoon 
iat  target  -  shooting  on  the  lawn  with 
rifles  and  revolvers,  ending  the  day  by  a  reckless  ride 
on  their  horses  across  the  fields,  over  fences  and  ditches, 
after  the  manner  of  fox-hunting,  a  sport  not  often  in 
dulged  in  in  that  part  of  the  country. 

In  the  evening  as  they  sat  in  the  big  sitting-room, 
smoking  after-supper  cigars,  accompanied  by  Abner 
Daniel,  with  his  long,  cane-stemmed  pipe,  Mrs.  Bishop 
came  into  the  room,  in  her  quiet  way,  smoothing  her 
apron  with  her  delicate  hands. 

"  Pole  Baker's  rid  up  an'  hitched  at  the  front  gate," 
she  said.  "Did  you  send  'im  to  town  fer  anything, 
Alan?" 

"  No,  mother,"  replied  her  son.  "  I  reckon  he's  come 
to  get  more  meat.  Is  father  out  there?" 

"I  think  he's  some'r's  about  the  stable,"  said  Mrs. 
Bishop. 

Miller  laughed.  "I  guess  Pole  isn't  the  best  pay 
in  the  world,  is  he?" 

"  Father  never  weighs  or  keeps  account  of  anything 
he  gets,"  said  Alan.  "  They  both  make  a  guess  at  it, 
when  cotton  is  sold.  Father  calls  it  'lumping'  the 
thing,  and  usually  Pole  gets  the  lump.  But  he's  all 

233 


Abner   Daniel 

right,  and  I  wish  we  could  do  more  for  him.  Father 
was  really  thinking  about  helping  him  in  some  sub 
stantial  way  when  the  crash  came — " 

"Thar!"  broke  in  Daniel,  with  a  gurgling  laugh, 
"I've  won  my  bet.  I  bet  to  myse'f  jest  now  that  ten 
minutes  wouldn't  pass  'fore  Craig  an'  his  bu'st-up 
would  be  mentioned." 

"  We  have  been  at  it,  off  and  on,  all  day,"  said  Miller, 
with  a  low  laugh.  "  The  truth  is,  it  makes  me  madder 
than  anything  I  ever  encountered." 

"Do  you  know  why?"  asked  Abner,  seriously,  just 
as  Pole  Baker  came  through  the  dining-room  and 
leaned  against  the  door -jamb  facing  them.  "It's 
beca'se  " — nodding  a  greeting  to  Pole  along  with  the 
others — "  it's  beca'se  you  know  in  reason  that  he's  got 
that  money." 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  say  that,"  protested  Miller,  in  the 
tone  of  a  man  of  broad  experience  in  worldly  affairs. 
"I  wouldn't  say  that." 

"  Well,  I  would,  an'  do,"  said  Abner,  in  the  full  tone 
of  decision.  "  I  know  he's  got  it ! " 

"Well,  yo're  wrong  thar,  Uncle  Ab,"  said  Pole, 
striding  forward  and  sinking  into  a  chair.  "You've 
got  as  good  jedgment  as  any  man  I  ever  run  across. 
I  thought  like  you  do  once.  I'd  'a'  tuck  my  oath  that 
he  had  it  about  two  hours  by  sun  this  evenin',  but  I 
kin  swear  he  hain't  a  cent  of  it  now." 

"  Do  you  mean  that,  Pole?"  Abner  stared  across  the 
wide  hearth  at  him  fixedly. 

"He  hain't  got  it,  Uncle  Ab."  Pole  was  beginning 
to  smile  mysteriously.  "  He  did  have  it,  but  he  hain't 
got  it  now.  I  got  it  from  'im,  blast  his  ugly  pictur'!" 

"You  got  it?"  gasped  Daniel.     "You?" 

"  Yes.  I  made  up  my  mind  he  had  it,  an'  it  deviled 
me  so  much  that  I  determined  to  have  it  by  hook  or 
crook,  ef  it  killed  me,  or  put  me  in  hock  the  rest  o'  my 

234 


Abner   Daniel 

life."  Pole  rose  and  took  a  packet  wrapped  in  brown 
paper  from  under  his  rough  coat  and  laid  it  on  the 
table  near  Alan.  "God  bless  you,  old  boy,"  he  said, 
"thar's  yore  money  I  It's  all  thar.  I  counted  it.  It's 
in  fifties  an'  hundreds." 

Breathlessly,  and  with  expanded  eyes,  Alan  broke 
the  string  about  the  packet  and  opened  it. 

"Great  God!"  he  muttered. 

Miller  sprang  up  and  looked  at  the  stack  of  bills, 
but  said  nothing.  Abner,  leaning  forward,  uttered  a 
little,  low  laugh. 

"  You— you  didn't  kill  'im,  did  you,  Pole,  old  boy— 
you  didn't,  did  you?"  he  asked. 

"  Didn't  harm  a  hair  of  his  head,"  said  Pole.  "  All 
I  wanted  was  Alan's  money,  an'  thar  it  is!" 

"Well,"  grunted  Daniel,  "I'm  glad  you  spared  his 
life.  And  I  thank  God  you  got  the  money." 

Miller  was  now  hurriedly  running  over  the  bills. 

"You  say  you  counted  it,  Baker?"  he  said,  pale 
with  pleased  excitement. 

"Three  times;  fust  when  it  was  turned  over  to  me, 
an'  twice  on  the  way  out  heer  from  town." 

Mrs.  Bishop  had  not  spoken  until  now,  standing  in 
the  shadows  of  the  others  as  if  bewildered  by  what 
seemed  a  mocking  impossibility. 

"Is  it  our  money — is  it  our'n?"  she  finally  found 
voice  to  say.  "Oh,  is  it,  Pole?" 

"  Yes,  fm,"  replied  Pole.  "  It's  yo'rn. "  He  produced 
a  crumpled  piece  of  paper  and  handed  it  to  Miller. 
"Heer's  Craig's  order  on  his  wife  fer  it,  an'  in  it  he 
acknowledges  it's  the  cash  deposited  by  Mr.  Bishop. 
He  won't  give  me  no  trouble.  I've  got  'im  fixed.  He'll 
leave  Darley  in  the  mornin'.  He's  afeerd  this  '11  git 
out  an'  he'll  be  lynched." 

Alan  was  profoundly  moved.  He  transferred  his  gaze 
from  the  money  to  Pole's  face,  and  leaned  towards  him. 

235 


Abner   Daniel 

"  You  did  it  out  of  friendship  for  me,"  he  said,  his 
voice  shaking. 

"  That's  what  I  did  it  fer,  Alan,  an'  I  wish  I  could  do 
it  over  agin.  When  I  laid  hold  o'  that  wad  an'  knowed 
it  was  the  thing  you  wanted  more'n  anything  else,  I 
felt  like  nyin'." 

"Tell  us  all  about  it,  Baker/'  said  Miller,  wrapping 
up  the  stack  of  bills. 

"All  right,"  said  Pole,  but  Mrs.  Bishop  interrupted 
him. 

"Wait  fer  Alfred,"  she  said,  her  voice  rising  and 
cracking  in  delight.  "Wait;  I'll  run  find  'im." 

She  went  out  through  the  dining-room  towards  the 
stables,  calling  her  husband  at  every  step.  "Alfred, 
oh,  Alfred!" 

"  Heer ! "  she  heard  him  call  out  from  one  of  the  stables. 

She  leaned  over  the  fence  opposite  the  closed  door, 
behind  which  she  had  heard  his  voice. 

"Oh,  Alfred!"  she  called,  "come  out,  quick!  I've 
got  news  fer  you — big,  big  news!" 

She  heard  him  grumbling  as  he  emptied  some  ears 
of  corn  into  the  trough  of  the  stall  containing  Alan's 
favorite  horse,  and  then  with  a  growl  he  emerged  into 
the  starlight. 

"That  fool  nigger  only  give  Alan's  hoss  six  ears 
o'  corn,"  he  fumed.  "  I  know,  beca'se  I  counted  the 
cobs ;  the  hoss  had  licked  the  trough  clean,  an'  gnawed 
the  ends  o'  the  cobs.  The  idea  o'  starvin'  my  stock 
right  before  my — " 

"Oh,  Alfred,  what  do  you  think  has  happened?"  his 
wife  broke  in.  "We've  got  the  bank  money  back! 
Pole  Baker  managed  somehow  to  get  it.  He's  goin' 
to  tell  about  it  now.  Come  on  in!" 

Bishop  closed  the  door  behind  him ;  he  fumbled  with 
the  chain  and  padlock  for  an  instant,  then  he  moved 
towards  her,  his  lip  hanging,  his  eyes  protruding. 

236 


Abner   Daniel 

"  I'll  believe  my  part  o'  that  when — * 

"But,"  she  cried,  opening  the  gate  for  him  to  pass 
through,  "the  money's  thar  in  the  house  on  the 
table;  it's  been  counted.  I  say  it's  tharl  Don't  you 
believe  it?" 

The  old  man  moved  through  the  gate  mechanically. 
He  paused  to  fasten  it  with  the  iron  ring  over  the  two 
posts.  But  after  that  he  seemed  to  lose  the  power  of 
locomotion.  He  stood  facing  her,  his  features  work 
ing. 

"I'll  believe  my  part  o'  that  cat-an'-bull  story  when 
I  see—" 

"Well,  come  in  the  house,  then,"  she  cried.  "You 
kin  lay  yore  hands  on  it  an'  count  it.  It's  a  awful 
big  pile,  an'  nothin'  less  than  fifty-dollar  bills." 

Grasping  his  arm,  she  half  dragged,  half  led  him 
into  the  house.  Entering  the  sitting-room,  he  strode 
to  the  table  and,  without  a  word,  picked  up  the  pack 
age  and  opened  it.  He  made  an  effort  to  count  the 
money,  but  his  fingers  seemed  to  have  lost  their  cun 
ning,  and  he  gave  it  up. 

"It's  all  there,"  Miller  assured  him,  "and  it's  your 
money.  You  needn't  bother  about  that." 

Bishop  sat  down  in  his  place  in  the  chimney  corner, 
the  packet  on  his  knees,  while  Pole  Baker,  modestly, 
and  not  without  touches  of  humor,  recounted  his  ex 
periences. 

"The  toughest  job  I  had  was  managin'  the  woman," 
Pole  laughed.  "You  kin  always  count  on  a  woman 
to  be  contrary.  I  believe  ef  you  was  tryin'  to  git  some 
women  out  of  a  burnin'  house  they'd  want  to  have 
the'r  way  about  it.  She  read  the  order  an'  got  white 
about  the  gills  an'  screamed,  low,  so  nobody  wouldn't 
heer  'er,  an'  then  wanted  to  ax  questions.  That's  the 
female  of  it.  She  knowed  in  reason  that  Craig  was 
dead  fixed  an'  couldn't  git  out  until  she  complied  with 

237 


Abner   Daniel 

the  instructions,  but  she  wanted  to  know  all  about  it. 
I  reckon  she  thought  he  wouldn't  give  full  particulars 
— an'  he  won't,  nuther.  She  wouldn't  budge  to  git 
the  money,  an'  time  was  a-passin'.  I  finally  had  a 
thought  that  fetched  'er.  I  told  'er  Craig  was  con 
fined  in  a  place  along  with  a  barrel  o'  gunpowder; 
that  a  slow  fuse  was  burnin'  towards  'im,  an'  that  he'd 
go  sky-high  at  about  sundown  ef  I  didn't  git  thar  an' 
kick  out  the  fire.  Then  I  told  'er  she'd  be  arrested 
fer  holdin'  the  money,  an'  that  got  'er  in  a  trot.  She 
fetched  it  out  purty  quick,  a-cryin'  an'  abusin'  me  by 
turns.  As  soon  as  the  money  left  'er  hands  though, 
she  begun  to  beg  me  to  ride  fast.  I  wanted  to  come 
heer  fust ;  but  I  felt  sorter  sorry  fer  Craig,  an'  went  an' 
let  'im  out.  He  was  the  gladdest  man  to  see  me  you 
ever  looked  at.  He  thought  I  was  goin'  to  leave  'im 
thar.  He  looked  like  he  wanted  to  hug  me.  He  says 
Winship  wasn't  much  to  blame.  They  both  got  in 
deep  water  speculating  an'  Craig  was  tempted  to  cab 
bage  on  the  twenty-five  thousand  dollars." 

When  Pole  had  concluded,  the  group  sat  in  silence 
for  a  long  time.  It  looked  as  if  Bishop  wanted  to  open 
ly  thank  Pole  for  what  he  had  done,  but  he  had  never 
done  such  a  thing  in  the  presence  of  others,  and  he 
could  not  pull  himself  to  it.  He  sat  crouched  up  in  his 
tilted  chair  as  if  burning  up  with  the  joy  of  his  release. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  Abner  Daniel,  as  he  filled 
his  pipe  anew  and  stood  over  the  fireplace. 

"They  say  money's  a  cuss  an'  the  root  of  all  evil," 
he  said,  dryly.  "  But  in  this  case  it's  give  Pole  Baker 
thar  a  chance  to  show  what's  in  'im.  I'd  'a'  give  the 
last  cent  I  have  to  'a'  done  what  he  did  to-day.  I  grant 
you  he  used  deception,  but  it  was  the  fust-water  sort 
that  that  Bible  king  resorted  to  when  he  made  out  he 
was  goin'  to  divide  that  baby  by  cuttin'  it  in  halves. 
He  fetched  out  the  good  an 'squelched  the  bad."  Ab- 

238 


Abner   Daniel 

ner  glanced  at  Pole,  and  gave  one  of  his  impulsive  in 
ward  laughs.  "  My  boy,  when  I  reach  t'other  shore  I 
expect  to  see  whole  strings  o'  sech  law-breakers  as  you 
a-playin'  leap-frog  on  the  golden  sands.  You  don't 
sing  an'  pray  a  whole  lot,  nur  keep  yore  religion  in 
sight,  but  when  thar's  work  to  be  done  you  shuck  off 
yore  shirt  an'  do  it  like  a  wild-cat  a-scratchin'. " 

No  one  spoke  after  this  outburst  for  several  min 
utes,  though  the  glances  cast  in  his  direction  showed 
the  embarrassed  ex-moonshiner  that  one  and  all  had 
sanctioned  Abner  Daniel's  opinion. 

Bishop  leaned  forward  and  looked  at  the  clock,  and 
seeing  that  it  was  nine,  he  put  the  money  in  a  bureau- 
drawer  and  turned  the  key.  Then  he  took  down  the 
big  family  Bible  from  its  shelf  and  sat  down  near  the 
lamp.  They  all  knew  what  the  action  portended. 

"That's  another  thing,"  smiled  Abner  Daniel,  while 
his  brother-in-law  was  searching  for  his  place  in  the 
big  Book.  "Money  may  be  a  bad  thing,  a  cuss  an' 
a  evil,  an'  what  not,  but  Alf  'ain't  felt  like  holdin' 
prayer  sence  the  bad  news  come;  an'  now  that  he's  got 
the  scads  once  more  the  fust  thing  is  an  appeal  to  the 
Throne.  Yes,  it  may  be  a  bad  thing,  but  sometimes 
it  sets  folks  to  singin'  an'  shoutin'.  Ef  I  was  a-runnin' 
of  the  universe,  I  believe  I'd  do  a  lots  o'  distributin'  in 
low  places.  I'd  scrape  off  a  good  many  tops  an'  level 
up  more.  Accordin'  to  some,  the  Lord's  busy  watchin' 
birds  fall  to  the  ground.  I  reckon  our  hard  times  is 
due  to  them  pesky  English  sparrows  that's  overrun 
ever'thing." 

"You'd  better  dry  up,  Uncle  Ab,"  said  Pole  Baker. 
"  That's  the  kind  o'  talk  that  made  brother  Dole  jump 
on  you." 

" Huh!  That's  a  fact,"  said  Daniel;  " but  this  is  in 
the  family." 

Then  Bishop  began  to  read  in  his  even,  declamatory 
239 


Abner   Daniel 

voice,  and  all  the  others  looked  steadily  at  the  fire  in 
the  chimney,  their  faces  lighted  up  by  the  flickering 
flames. 

When  they  had  risen  from  their  knees  after  prayer, 
Pole  looked  at  Abner  with  eyes  from  which  shot  beams 
of  amusement.  He  seemed  to  enjoy  nothing  so  much 
as  hearing  Abner's  religious  opinions. 

"  You  say  this  thing  has  set  Mr.  Bishop  to  prayin', 
Uncle  Ab?"  he  asked. 

"That's  what,"  smiled  Abner,  who  had  never  ad 
mired  Baker  so  much  before.  "Ef  I  stay  heer,  an' 
they  ever  git  that  railroad  through,  I'm  goin'  to  have 
me  a  pair  o'  knee-pads  made." 


XXVIII 

50UT  a  week  after  the  events  record- 
led  in  the  preceding   chapter,  old  man 
Bishop,  just  at  dusk  one  evening,  rode 
up   to   Pole  Baker's    humble  domicile. 
IPole  was  in  the  front  yard  making  a 
'fire  of  sticks,  twigs,  and  chips. 
"What's  that  fer?"  the  old  man  questioned,  as  he 
dismounted  and  hitched  his  horse  to  the  worm  fence. 

"To  drive  off  mosquitoes,"  said  Pole,  wiping  his 
eyes,  which  were  red  from  the  effects  of  the  smoke. 
"I'll  never  pass  another  night  like  the  last  un  ef  I  kin 
he'p  it.  I  lowed  my  hide  was  thick,  but  they  bored  fer 
oil  all  over  me  from  dark  till  sun-up.  I  never  've  tried 
smoke,  but  Hank  Watts  says  it's  ahead  o'  pennyr'yal." 
"Shucks!"  grunted  the  planter,  "you  ain't  workin' 
it  right.  A  few  rags  burnin'  in  a  pan  nigh  yore  bed 
may  drive  'em  out,  but  a  smoke  out  heer  in  the  yard 
'11  jest  drive  'em  in." 

"What?"  said  Pole,  in  high  disgust.     "Do  you  ex 
pect  me  to  sleep  sech  hot  weather  as  this  is  with  a  fire 
nigh  my  bed?    The  durn  things  may  eat  me  raw,  but 
•I'll  be  blamed  ef  I  barbecue  myse'f  to  please  'em." 

Mrs.  Baker  appeared  in  the  cabin-door,  holding  two  of 
the  youngest  children  by  their  hands.  "  He  won't  take 
my  advice,  Mr.  Bishop,"  she  said.  "I  jest  rub  a  little 
lamp-oil  on  my  face  an'  hands  an'  they  don't  tetch  me." 
Pole  grunted  and  looked  with  laughing  eyes  at  the 
old  man. 

16  241 


Abner   Daniel 

"She  axed  me  t'other  night  why  I'd  quit  kissin' 
'er,"  he  said.  "An'  1  told  'er  I  didn't  keer  any  more 
fer  kerosene  than  the  mosquitoes  did." 

Mrs.  Baker  laughed  pleasantly,  as  she  brought  out 
a  chair  for  Bishop  and  invited  him  to  sit  down.  He 
complied,  twirling  his  riding-switch  in  his  hand.  From 
his  position,  almost  on  a  level  with  the  floor,  he  could 
see  the  interior  of  one  of  the  rooms.  It  was  almost  bare 
of  furniture.  Two  opposite  corners  were  occupied  by 
crude  bedsteads ;  in  the  centre  of  the  room  was  a  cradle 
made  from  a  soap-box  on  rockers  sawn  from  rough  pop 
lar  boards.  It  had  the  appearance  of  having  been  in 
use  through  several  generations.  Near  it  stood  a  spin 
ning-wheel  and  a  three-legged  stool.  The  sharp  steel 
spindle  gleamed  in  the  firelight  from  the  big  log  and 
mud  chimney. 

"What's  the  news  from  town,  Mr.  Bishop?"  Pole 
asked,  awkwardly,  for  it  struck  him  that  Bishop  had 
called  to  talk  with  him  about  some  business  and  was 
reluctant  to  introduce  it. 

"Nothin'  that  interests  any  of  us,  I  reckon,  Pole," 
said  the  old  man,  "except  I  made  that  investment  in 
Shoal  Cotton  Factory  stock." 

"That's  good,"  said  Pole,  in  the  tone  of  anybody 
but  a  man  who  had  never  invested  a  dollar  in  any 
thing.  "  It's  all  hunkey,  an'  my  opinion  is  that  it  '11 
never  be  wuth  less." 

"I  did  heer,  too,"  added  Bishop,  "that  it  was  re 
ported  that  Craig  had  set  up  a  little  grocery  store  out 
in  Texas,  nigh  the  Indian  Territory.  Some  thinks 
that  Winship  '11  turn  up  thar  an'  jine  'im,  but  a  body 
never  knows  what  to  believe  these  days." 

"That  shore  is  a  fact,"  opined  Pole.  "Sally,  that 
corn-bread's  a-burnin';  ef  you'd  use  less  lamp-oil  you'd 
smell  better." 

Mrs.  Baker  darted  to  the  fireplace,  raked  the  live 
*  242 


Abner   Daniel 

coals  from  beneath  the  cast-iron  oven,  and  jerked  off 
the  lid  in  a  cloud  of  steam  and  smoke.  She  turned 
over  the  pone  with  the  aid  of  a  case-knife,  and  then 
came  back  to  the  door. 

"  Fer  the  last  month  I've  had  my  eye  on  the  Bascome 
farm,"  Bishop  was  saying.  "Thar's  a  hundred  acres 
even,  some  good  bottom  land  and  upland,  an'  in  the 
neighborhood  o'  thirty  acres  o'  good  wood.  Then 
thar's  a  five-room  house,  well  made  an'  tight,  an'  a 
barn,  cow-house,  an'  stable." 

"Lord!  I  know  the  place  like  a  book,"  said  Pole; 
"an'  it's  a  dandy  investment,  Mr.  Bishop.  They  say 
he  offered  it  fer  fifteen  hundred.  It's  wuth  two  thou 
sand.  You  won't  drap  any  money  by  buyin'  that  prop 
erty,  Mr.  Bishop.  I'd  hate  to  contract  to  build  jest  the 
house  an'  well  an'  out-houses  fer  a  thousand." 

"I  bought  it,"  Bishop  told  him.  "He  let  me  have 
it  fer  a  good  deal  less  'n  fifteen  hundred,  cash  down." 

"Well,  you  made  a  dandy  trade,  Mr.  Bishop.  Ah, 
that's  what  ready  money  will  do.  When  you  got  the 
cash  things  seem  to  come  at  bottom  figures." 

Old  Bishop  drew  a  folded  paper  from  his  pocket  and 
slapped  it  on  his  knee.  "Yes,  I  closed  the  deal  this 
evenin',  an'  I  was  jest  a-thinkin'  that  as  you  hain't 
rented  fer  next  yeer — I  mean — "  Bishop  was  ordi 
narily  direct  of  speech,  but  somehow  his  words  be 
came  tangled,  and  he  delivered  himself  awkwardly 
on  this  occasion.  "  You  see,  Alan  thinks  that  you  'n 
Sally  ort  to  live  in  a  better  house  than  jest  this  heer 
log-cabin,  an' — " 

The  wan  face  of  the  tired  woman  was  aglow  with 
expectation.  She  sank  down  on  the  doorstep,  and  sat 
still  and  mute,  her  hands  clasping  each  other  in  her 
lap.  She  had  always  disliked  that  cabin  and  its 
sordid  surroundings,  and  there  was  something  in 
Bishop's  talk  that  made  her  think  he  was  about  to 


Abner   Daniel 

propose  renting  the  new  farm,  house  and  all,  to  her 
husband.  Her  mouth  fell  open;  she  scarcely  allowed 
herself  to  breathe.  Then,  as  Bishop  paused,  her  hus 
band's  voice  struck  dumb  dismay  to  her  heart.  It  was 
as  if  she  were  falling  from  glowing  hope  back  to  tasted 
despair. 

"  Thar's  more  land  in  that  farm  'an  I  could  do  jestice 
to,  Mr.  Bishop ;  but  ef  thar's  a  good  cabin  on  it  an'  you 
see  fit  to  cut  off  enough  fer  me  'n  one  hoss  I'd  jest  as 
soon  tend  that  as  this  heer.  I  want  to  do  what  you  an' 
Alan  think  is  best  all  'round." 

"Oh,  Pole,  Pole!"  The  woman  was  crying  it  to  her 
self,  her  face  lowered  to  her  hands  that  the  two  men 
might  not  see  the  agony  written  in  her  eyes.  A  house 
like  that  to  live  in,  with  all  those  rooms  and  fireplaces, 
and  windows  with  panes  of  glass  in  them!  She  fan 
cied  she  saw  her  children  playing  on  the  tight,  smooth 
floors  and  on  the  honeysuckled  porch.  For  one  min 
ute  these  things  had  been  hers,  to  be  snatched  away 
by  the  callous  indifference  of  her  husband,  who,  alas! 
had  never  cared  a  straw  for  appearances. 

"Oh,  I  wasn't  thinking  about  rentin'  it  to  you," 
said  Bishop,  and  the  woman's  dream  was  over.  She 
raised  her  head,  awake  again.  "You  see,"  went  on 
Bishop,  still  struggling  for  proper  expression,  "Alan 
thinks — well,  he  thinks  you  are  sech  a  born  fool  about 
not  acceptin'  help  from  them  that  feels  nigh  to  you, 
an'  I  may  as  well  say  grateful,  exceedingly  grateful,  fer 
what  you've  done,  things  that  no  other  livin'  man  could 
'a'  done.  Alan  thinks  you  ort  to  have  the  farm  fer  yore 
own  property,  an'  so  the  deeds  has  been  made  out  to — " 

Pole  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height.  His  big 
face  was  flushed,  half  with  anger,  half  with  a  strong 
emotion  of  a  tenderer  kind.  He  stood  towering  over 
the  old  man  like  a  giant  swayed  by  the  warring  winds 
of  good  and  evil, 

244 


Abner   Daniel 

"I  won't  heer  a  word  more  of  that,  Mr.  Bishop,"  he 
said,  with  a  quivering  lip;  "not  a  word  more.  By 
golly!  I  mean  what  I  say.  I  don't  want  to  heer  an 
other  word  of  it.  This  heer  place  is  good  enough  fer 
me  an'  my  family.  It's  done  eight  yeer,  an'  it  kin  do 
another  eight." 

"Oh,  Pole,  Pole,  Pole!"  The  woman's  cry  was  now 
audible.  It  came  straight  from  her  pent-up,  starving 
soul  and  went  right  to  Bishop's  heart. 

"You  want  the  place,  don't  you,  Sally?"  he  said, 
calling  her  by  her  given  name  for  the  first  time,  as  if 
he  had  just  discovered  their  kinship.  He  could  not 
have  used  a  tenderer  tone  to  child  of  his  own. 

"Mind,  mind  what  you  say,  Sally!"  ordered  Pole, 
from  the  depths  of  his  fighting  emotions.  "Mind 
what  you  say!" 

The  woman  looked  at  Bishop.  Her  glance  was  on 
fire. 

"  Yes,  I  want  it — I  want  it!"  she  cried.  "  I  ain't  goin' 
to  lie.  I  want  it  more  right  now  than  I  do  the  king 
dom  of  heaven.  I  want  it  ef  we  have  a  right  to  it. 
Oh,  I  don't  know."  She  dropped  her  head  in  her  lap 
and  began  to  sob. 

Bishop  stood  up.  He  moved  towards  her  in  a  jerky 
fashion  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  pitifully  tight  knot 
of  hair  at  the  back  of  her  head. 

"Well,  it's  yores,"  he  said.  "Alan  thought  Pole 
would  raise  a  kick  agin  it,  an'  me  'n  him  had  it  made 
out  in  yore  name,  so  he  couldn't  tetch  it.  It's  yores, 
Sally  Ann  Baker.  That's  the  way  it  reads." 

The  woman's  sobs  increased,  but  they  were  sobs  of 
unbridled  joy.  With  her  apron  to  her  eyes  she  rose 
and  hurried  into  the  house. 

The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met.     Bishop  spoke  first: 

"You've  got  to  give  in,  Pole,"  he  said.  "You'd 
not  be  a  man  to  stand  betwixt  yore  wife  an'  a  thing 

245 


Abner   Daniel 

she  wants  as  bad  as  she  does  that  place,  an',  by  all 
that's  good  an'  holy,  you  sha'n't." 

"What's  the  use  o'  me  tryin'  to  git  even  with  Alan," 
Pole  exclaimed,  "ef  he's  eternally  a-goin'  to  git  up 
some'n'?  I've  been  tickled  to  death  ever  since  I  cor 
nered  old  Craig  till  now,  but  you  an'  him  has  sp'iled 
it  all  by  this  heer  trick.  It  ain't  fair  to  me." 

"  Well,  it's  done,"  smiled  the  old  man,  as  he  went  to 
his  horse;  "an'  ef  you  don't  live  thar  with  Sally,  I'll 
make  'er  git  a  divorce." 

Bishop  had  reached  a  little  pig-pen  in  a  fence-corner 
farther  along,  on  his  way  home,  when  Mrs.  Baker 
suddenly  emerged  from  a  patch  of  high  corn  in  front 
of  him. 

"Is  he  a-goin'  to  take  it,  Mr.  Bishop?"  she  asked, 
panting  from  her  hurried  walk  through  the  corn  that 
hid  her  from  the  view  of  the  cabin. 

"Yes,"  Bishop  told  her;  "I'm  a-goin'  to  send  two 
wagons  over  in  the  morning  to  move  yore  things.  I 
wish  it  was  ten  times  as  good  a  place  as  it  is,  but  it 
will  insure  you  an'  the  children  a  living  an'  a  comfort 
able  home." 

After  the  manner  of  many  of  her  kind,  the  woman 
uttered  no  words  of  thanks,  but  simply  turned  back 
into  the  corn,  and,  occupied  with  her  own  vision  of 
prosperity  and  choking  with  gratitude,  she  hurried 
back  to  the  cabin. 


XXIX 

JHE  summer  ended,  the  autumn  passed, 
'and  Christmas  approached.  Nothing 
(of  much  importance  had  taken  place 
.among  the  characters  of  this  little  his 
tory.  The  Southern  Land  and  Timber 
Company,  and  Wilson  in  particular,  had 
disappointed  Miller  and  Alan  by  their  reticence  in  re 
gard  to  the  progress  of  the  railroad  scheme.  At  every 
meeting  with  Wilson  they  found  him  either  really 
or  pretendedly  indifferent  about  the  matter.  His  con 
cern,  he  told  them,  was  busy  in  other  quarters,  and 
that  he  really  did  not  know  what  they  would  finally 
do  about  it. 

"He  can't  pull  the  wool  over  my  eyes,"  Miller  told 
his  friend,  after  one  of  these  interviews.  "  He  simply 
thinks  he  can  freeze  you  out  by  holding  off  till  you 
have  to  raise  money." 

"He  may  have  inquired  into  my  father's  financial 
condition,"  suggested  Alan,  with  a  long  face. 
"Most  likely/'  replied  the  lawyer. 
"And  discovered  exactly  where  we  stand." 
"  Perhaps,  but  we  must  not  believe  that  till  we  know 
it.     I'm  going  to  try  to  checkmate  him.     I  don't  know 
how,  but  I'll  think  of  something.     He  feels  that  he 
has  the  upper  hand  now,  but  I'll  interest  him  some  of 
these  days." 

Alan's  love  affair  had  also  been  dragging.  He  had 
had  numerous  assurances  of  Dolly's  constancy,  but 

247 


Abner   Daniel 

since  learning  how  her  father  had  acted  the  night  he 
supposed  she  had  eloped  with  Alan,  her  eyes  had  been 
opened  to  the  seriousness  of  offending  Colonel  Barclay. 
She  now  knew  that  her  marriage  against  his  will  would 
cause  her  immediate  disinheritance,  and  she  was  too 
sensible  a  girl  to  want  to  go  to  Alan  without  a  dollar 
and  with  the  doors  of  her  home  closed  against  her. 
Besides,  she  believed  in  Alan's  future.  She,  somehow, 
had  more  faith  in  the  railroad  than  any  other  interested 
person.  She  knew,  too,  that  she  was  now  more  closely 
watched  than  formerly.  She  had,  with  firm  finality, 
refused  Frank  Hillhouse's  offer  of  marriage,  and  that 
had  not  helped  her  case  in  the  eyes  of  her  exasperated 
parent.  Her  mother  occupied  neutral  ground;  she 
had  a  vague  liking  for  Alan  Bishop,  and,  if  the  whole 
truth  must  be  told,  was  heartily  enjoying  the  situation. 
She  was  enjoying  it  so  subtly  and  so  heartily,  in  her 
own  bloodless  way,  that  she  was  at  times  almost  afraid 
of  its  ending  suddenly. 

On  Christmas  Eve  Adele  was  expected  home  from 
Atlanta,  and  Alan  had  come  in  town  to  meet  her.  As 
it  happened,  an  accident  delayed  her  train  so  that  it 
would  not  reach  Darley  till  ten  o'clock  at  night  instead 
of  six  in  the  evening,  so  there  was  nothing  for  her 
brother  to  do  but  arrange  for  their  staying  that  night 
at  the  Johnston  House.  Somewhat  to  Alan's  sur 
prise,  who  had  never  discovered  the  close  friendship 
and  constant  correspondence  existing  between  Miller 
and  his  sister,  the  former  announced  that  he  was  going 
to  spend  the  night  at  the  hotel  and  drive  out  to  the 
farm  with  them  the  next  morning.  Of  course,  it  was 
agreeable,  Alan  reflected,  but  it  was  a  strange  thing 
for  Miller  to  propose. 

From  the  long  veranda  of  the  hotel  after  supper  that 
evening  the  two  friends  witnessed  the  crude  display 
of  holiday  fireworks  in  the  street  below.  Half  a  dozen 

248 


Abner   Daniel 

big  bonfires  made  of  dry-goods  boxes,  kerosene  and 
tar  barrels,  and  refuse  of  all  kinds  were  blazing  along 
the  main  street.  Directly  opposite  the  hotel  the  only 
confectionery  and  toy  store  in  the  place  was  crowded 
to  overflowing  by  eager  customers,  and  in  front  of  it 
the  purchasers  of  fireworks  were  letting  them  off  for 
the  benefit  of  the  bystanders.  Fire  -  crackers  were 
exploded  by  the  package,  and  every  now  and  then  a 
clerk  in  some  store  would  come  to  the  front  door  and 
fire  off  a  gun  or  a  revolver. 

All  this  noise  and  illumination  was  at  its  height 
when  Adele 's  train  drew  up  in  the  car-shed.  The  bon 
fires  near  at  hand  made  it  as  light  as  day,  and  she  had 
no  trouble  recognizing  the  two  friends. 

"Oh,  what  an  awful  racket!"  she  exclaimed,  as  she 
released  herself  from  Alan's  embrace  and  gave  her 
hand  to  Miller. 

"It's  in  your  honor,"  Miller  laughed,  as,  to  Alan's 
vast  astonishment,  he  held  on  to  her  hand  longer  than 
seemed  right.  "  We  ought  to  have  had  the  brass  band 
out." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  to  get  home,"  said  Adele,  laying 
her  hand  on  Miller's  extended  arm.  Then  she  released 
it  to  give  Alan  her  trunk-checks.  "  Get  them,  brother," 
she  said.  "Mr.  Miller  will  take  care  of  me.  I  sup 
pose  you  are  not  going  to  drive  home  to-night." 

"Not  if  you  are  tired,"  said  Miller,  in  a  tone  Alan 
had  never  heard  his  friend  use  to  any  woman,  nor  had 
he  ever  seen  such  an  expression  on  Miller's  face  as  lay 
there  while  the  lawyer's  eyes  were  feasting  themselves 
on  the  girl's  beauty. 

Alan  hurried  away  after  the  trunks  and  a  porter. 
He  was  almost  blind  with  a  rage  that  was  new  to  him. 
Was  Miller  deliberately  beginning  a  flirtation  with 
Adele  at  a  moment's  notice?  And  had  she  been  so 
spoiled  by  the  "fast  set"  of  Atlanta  during  her  stay 

249 


Abner   Daniel 

there  that  she  would  allow  it — even  if  Miller  was  a 
friend  of  the  family?  He  found  a  negro  porter  near 
the  heap  of  luggage  that  had  been  hurled  from  the 
baggage-car,  and  ordered  his  sister's  trunks  taken  to 
the  hotel.  Then  he  followed  the  couple  moodily  up  to 
the  hotel  parlor.  He  was  destined  to  undergo  another 
shock,  for,  on  entering  that  room,  he  surprised  Miller 
and  Adele  on  a  sofa  behind  the  big  square  piano  with 
their  heads  suspiciously  near  together,  and  so  deeply 
were  they  engaged  in  conversation  that,  although  he 
drew  up  a  chair  near  them,  they  paid  no  heed  to  him 
further  than  to  recognize  his  appearance  with  a  lifting 
of  their  eyes.  They  were  talking  of  social  affairs  in 
Atlanta  and  people  whose  names  were  unfamiliar  to 
Alan.  He  rose  and  stood  before  the  fireplace,  but  they 
did  not  notice  his  change  of  position.  Truly  it  was 
maddening.  He  told  himself  that  Adele's  pretty  face 
and  far  too  easy  manner  had  attracted  Miller's  atten 
tion"  temporarily,  and  the  fellow  was  daring  to  enter 
one  of  his  flirtations  right  before  his  eyes.  Alan  would 
give  him  a  piece  of  his  mind  at  the  first  opportunity, 
even  if  he  was  under  obligations  to  him.  Indeed, 
Miller  had  greatly  disappointed  him,  and  so  had  Adele. 
He  had  always  thought  she,  like  Dolly  Barclay,  was 
different  from  other  girls;  but  no,  she  was  like  them 
all.  Miller's  attention  had  simply  turned  her  head. 
Well,  as  soon  as  he  had  a  chance  he  would  tell  her  a 
few  things  about  Miller  and  his  views  of  women.  That 
would  put  her  on  her  guard,  but  it  would  not  draw  out 
the  poisoned  sting  left  by  Miller's  presumption,  or  in 
delicacy,  or  whatever  it  was.  Alan  rose  and  stood  at 
the  fire  unnoticed  for  several  minutes,  and  then  he 
showed  that  he  was  at  least  a  good  chaperon,  for  he 
reached  out  and  drew  on  the  old-fashioned  bell-pull 
in  the  chimney-corner.  The  porter  appeared,  and  Alan 
asked:  "Is  my  sister's  room  ready?" 

250 


Abner   Daniel 

"Yes,  it's  good  and  warm  now,  suh,"  said  the  negro. 
"I  started  the  fire  an  hour  ago." 

Miller  and  Adele  had  paused  to  listen. 

"  Oh,  you  are  going  to  hurry  me  off  to  bed,"  the  girl 
said,  with  an  audible  sigh. 

"  You  must  be  tired  after  that  ride,"  said  Alan,  coldly. 

"  That's  a  fact,  you  must  be,"  echoed  Miller.  "  Well, 
if  you  have  to  go,  you  can  finish  telling  me  in  the  morn 
ing.  You  know  I'm  going  to  spend  the  night  here, 
where  I  have  a  regular  room,  and  I'll  see  you  at  break 
fast." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad,"  said  Adele.  "Yes,  I  can  finish 
telling  you  in  the  morning."  Then  she  seemed  to 
notice  her  brother's  long  face,  and  she  laughed  out 
teasingly:  "I'll  bet  he  and  Dolly  are  no  nearer  to 
gether  than  ever." 

"You  are  right,"  Miller  joined  in  her  mood;  "the 
Colonel  still  has  his  dogs  ready  for  Alan,  but  they'll 
make  it  up  some  day,  I  hope.  Dolly  is  next  to  the 
smartest  girl  I  know." 

"Oh,  you  are  a  flatterer,"  laughed  Adele,  and  she 
gave  Miller  her  hand.  "  Don't  forget  to  be  up  for  early 
breakfast.  We  must  start  soon  in  the  morning.  I'm 
dying  to  see  the  home  folks." 

Alan  was  glad  that  Miller  had  a  room  of  his  own, 
for  he  was  not  in  a  mood  to  converse  with  him;  and 
when  Adele  had  retired  he  refused  Miller's  proffered 
cigar  and  went  to  his  own  room. 

Miller  grunted  as  Alan  turned  away.  "He's  had 
bad  news  of  some  sort,"  he  thought,  "and  it's  about 
Dolly  Barclay.  I  wonder,  after  all,  if  she  would  stick 
to  a  poor  man.  I  begin  to  think  some  women  would. 
Adele  is  of  that  stripe — yes,  she  is,  and  isn't  she  stun 
ning-looking?  She's  a  gem  of  the  first  water,  straight 
as  a  die,  full  of  pluck  and — she's  all  right — all  right!" 

He  went  out  on  the  veranda  to  smoke  and  enjoy  re- 
251 


Abner   Daniel 

peating  these  things  over  to  himself.  The  bonfires  in 
the  street  were  dying  down  to  red  embers,  around  which 
stood  a  few  stragglers;  but  there  was  a  blaze  of  new 
light  over  the  young  man's  head.  Along  his  horizon 
had  dawned  a  glorious  reason  for  his  existence;  a  rea 
son  that  discounted  every  reason  he  had  ever  enter 
tained.  "Adele,  Adele,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  then 
his  cigar  went  out.  Perhaps,  his  thoughts  ran  on  in 
their  mad  race  with  happiness — perhaps,  with  her  fair 
head  on  her  pillow,  she  was  thinking  of  him  as  he  was 
of  her. 

Around  the  corner  came  a  crowd  of  young  men  sing 
ing  negro  songs.  They  passed  under  the  veranda,  and 
Miller  recognized  Frank  Hillhouse's  voice.  "  That  you, 
Frank?"  Miller  called  out,  leaning  over  the  railing. 

"Yes — that  you,  Ray?"  Hillhouse  stepped  out  into 
view.  "  Come  on ;  we  are  going  to  turn  the  town  over. 
Every  sign  comes  down,  according  to  custom,  you 
know.  Old  Thad  Moore  is  drunk  in  the  calaboose. 
They  put  him  in  late  this  evening.  We  are  going  to 
mask  and  let  him  out.  It's  a  dandy  racket;  we  are 
going  to  make  him  think  we  are  White  Caps,  and  then 
set  him  down  in  the  bosom  of  his  family.  Come  on." 

"I  can't  to-night,"  declined  Miller,  with  a  laugh. 
"I'm  dead  tired." 

"  Well,  if  you  hear  all  the  church  bells  ringing,  you 
needn't  think  it's  fire,  and  jump  out  of  your  skin.  We 
ain't  going  to  sleep  to-night,  and  we  don't  intend  to  let 
anybody  else  do  it." 

"Well,  go  it  while  you  are  young,"  Miller  retorted, 
with  a  laugh,  and  Hillhouse  joined  his  companions  in 
mischief  and  they  passed  on  singing  merrily. 

Miller  threw  his  cigar  away  and  went  to  his  room. 
He  was  ecstatically  happy.  The  mere  thought  that 
Adele  Bishop  was  under  the  same  roof  with  him,  and 
on  the  morrow  was  going  to  people  who  liked  him,  and 

252 


Abner   Daniel 

leaned  on  his  advice  and  experience,  gave  him  a  sweet 
content  that  thrilled  him  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  to  tell  Alan/'  he  mused,  "  but  he'll 
find  it  out  soon  enough;  and,  hang  it  all,  I  can't  tell 
him  how  I  feel  about  his  own  sister,  after  all  the  rot 
I've  stuffed  into  him/' 


XXX 

JHE  next  morning,  as  soon  as  he  was 
iup,  Alan  went  to  his  sister's  room.  He 
.found  her  dressed  and  ready  for  him. 
,She  was  seated  before  a  cheerful  grate- 
jfire,  looking  over  a  magazine  she  had 
|  brought  to  pass  the  time  on  the  train. 
"Come  in,"  she  said,  pleasantly  enough,  he  reflect 
ed,  now  that  Miller  was  not  present  to  absorb  her  at 
tention.  "I  expected  you  to  get  up  a  little  earlier. 
Those  guns  down  at  the  bar-room  just  about  day 
break  waked  me,  and  I  couldn't  go  to  sleep  again. 
There  is  no  use  denying  it,  Al,  we  have  a  barbarous 
way  of  amusing  ourselves  up  here  in  North  Georgia." 
He  went  in  and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  still 
unable  to  rid  his  brow  of  the  frown  it  had  worn  the 
night  before. 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  you've  got  too  citified  for  us,"  he  said, 
"  along  with  other  accomplishments  that  fast  set  down 
there  has  taught  you." 

Adele  laid  her  book  open  on  her  lap. 
"  Look  here,  Alan,"  she  said,  quite  gravely.  "  What's 
the  matter  with  you?" 

"  Nothing,  that  I  know  of/'  he  said,  without  meeting 
her  direct  gaze. 

"  Well,  there  is,"  she  said,  as  the  outcome  of  her  slow 
inspection  of  his  clouded  features. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  gave  her  his  eyes 
steadily. 

254 


Abner   Daniel 

"I  don't  like  the  way  you  and  Miller  are  carrying 
on."  He  hurled  the  words  at  her  sullenly.  "You  see, 
I  know  him  through  and  through." 

"Well,  that's  all  right,"  she  replied,  not  flinching 
from  his  indignant  stare ;  "  but  what's  that  got  to  do 
with  my  conduct  and  his?" 

"You  allow  him  to  be  too  familiar  with  you,"  Alan 
retorted.  "  He's  not  the  kind  of  a  man  for  you  to — to 
act  that  way  with.  He  has  flirted  with  a  dozen  women 
and  thrown  them  over;  he  doesn't  believe  in  the  honest 
love  of  a  man  for  a  woman,  or  the  love  of  a  woman  for 
a  man." 

"Ah,  I  am  at  the  first  of  this!"  Adele,  instead  of 
being  put  down  by  his  stormy  words,  was  smiling  in 
wardly.  Her  lips  were  rigid,  but  Alan  saw  the  light 
of  keen  amusement  in  her  eyes.  "  Is  he  really  so  dan 
gerous?  That  makes  him  doubly  interesting.  Most 
girls  love  to  handle  masculine  gunpowder.  Do  you 
know,  if  I  was  Dolly  Barclay,  for  instance,  an  affair 
with  you  would  not  be  much  fun,  because  I'd  be  so 
sure  of  you.  The  dead  level  of  your  past  would  alarm 
me." 

"Thank  Heaven,  all  women  are  not  alike!"  was  the 
bolt  he  hurled  at  her.  "If  you  knew  as  much  about 
Ray  Miller  as  I  do,  you'd  act  in  a  more  dignified  way 
on  a  first  acquaintance  with  him." 

"On  a  first — oh,  I  see  what  you  mean!"  Adele  put 
her  handkerchief  to  her  face  and  treated  herself  to 
a  merry  laugh  that  exasperated  him  beyond  endur 
ance.  Then  she  stood  up,  smoothing  her  smile  away. 
"  Let's  go  to  breakfast.  I'm  as  hungry  as  a  bear.  I 
told  Ray  burn — I  mean  your  dangerous  friend,  Mr.  Mil 
ler — that  we'd  meet  him  in  the  dining-room.  He  says 
he's  crazy  for  a  cup  of  coffee  with  whipped  cream  in  it. 
I  ordered  it  just  now." 

"The  dev — "  Alan  bit  the  word  in  two  and  strode 
255 


Abner   Daniel 

from  the  room,  she  following.  The  first  person  they 
saw  in  the  big  dining-room  was  Miller,  standing  at  the 
stove  in  the  centre  of  the  room  warming  himself.  He 
scarcely  looked  at  Alan  in  his  eagerness  to  have  a  chair 
placed  for  Adele  at  a  little  table  reserved  for  three  in  a 
corner  of  the  room,  which  was  presided  over  by  a  slick- 
looking  mulatto  waiter,  whose  father  had  belonged  to 
Miller's  family. 

"I've  been  up  an  hour,"  he  said  to  her.  "I  took  a 
stroll  down  the  street  to  see  what  damage  the  gang  did 
last  night.  Every  sign  is  down  or  hung  where  it  doesn't 
belong.  To  tease  the  owner,  an  old  negro  drayman, 
whom  everybody  jokes  with,  they  took  his  wagon  to 
pieces  and  put  it  together  again  on  the  roof  of  Harmon's 
drug-store.  How  they  got  it  there  is  a  puzzle  that 
will  go  down  in  local  history  like  the  building  of  the 
Pyramids." 

"Whiskey  did  it,"  laughed  Adele;  "that  will  be  the 
final  explanation." 

"I  think  you  are  right,"  agreed  Miller. 

Alan  bolted  his  food  in  grum  silence,  unnoticed  by 
the  others.  Adele's  very  grace  at  the  table,  as  she 
prepared  Miller's  coffee,  and  her  apt  repartee  added  to 
his  discomfiture.  He  excused  himself  from  the  table 
before  they  had  finished,  mumbling  something  about 
seeing  if  the  horses  were  ready,  and  went  into  the  office. 
The  last  blow  to  his  temper  was  dealt  by  Adele  as  she 
came  from  the  dining-room. 

"Mr.  Miller  wants  to  drive  me  out  in  his  buggy  to 
show  me  his  horses,"  she  said,  half  smiling.  "You 
won't  mind,  will  you?  You  see,  he'll  want  his  team 
out  there  to  get  back  in,  and — " 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind,"  he  told  her.  "I  see  you  are 
bent  on  making  a  goose  of  yourself.  After  what  I've 
told  you  about  Miller,  if  you  still — " 

But  she  closed  his  mouth  with  her  hand. 
256 


Abner   Daniel 

"Leave  him  to  me,  brother,"  she  said,  as  she  turned 
away.  "I'm  old  enough  to  take  care  of  myself,  and — 
and — well,  I  know  men  better  than  you  do." 

When  Alan  reached  home  he  found  that  Miller  and 
Adele  had  been  there  half  an  hour.  His  mother  met 
him  at  the  door  with  a  mysterious  smile  on  her  sweet 
old  face,  as  she  nodded  at  the  closed  door  of  the  parlor. 

"Don't  go  in  there  now,"  she  whispered.  "Adele 
and  Mr.  Miller  have  been  there  ever  since  they  come. 
I  railly  believe  they  are  in  love  with  each  other.  I 
never  saw  young  folks  act  more  like  it.  When  I  met 
'em  it  looked  jest  like  he  wanted  to  kiss  me,  he  was  so 
happy.  Now  wouldn't  it  be  fine  if  they  was  to  get 
married?  He's  the  nicest  man  in  the  State,  and  the 
best  catch." 

"Oh,  mother,"  said  Alan,  "you  don't  understand. 
Rayburn  Miller  is — " 

"Well,  Adele  will  know  how  to  manage  him,"  broke 
in  the  old  lady,  too  full  of  her  view  of  the  romance  to 
harken  to  his;  "she  ain't  no  fool,  son.  She'll  twist 
him  around  her  finger  if  she  wants  to.  She's  pretty, 
an'  stylish,  an'  as  sharp  as  a  brier.  Ah,  he's  jest  seen 
it  all  and  wants  her;  you  can't  fool  me!  I  know  how 
people  act  when  they  are  in  love.  I've  seen  hundreds, 
and  I  never  saw  a  worse  case  on  both  sides  than  this 
is." 

Going  around  to  the  stables  to  see  that  his  horses 
were  properly  attended  to,  Alan  met  his  uncle  leaning 
over  the  rail-fence  looking  admiringly  at  a  young  colt 
that  was  prancing  around  the  lot. 

"Christmas  gift,"  said  the  old  man,  suddenly.  "I 
ketched  you  that  time  shore  pop." 

"Yes,  you  got  ahead  of  me,"  Alan  admitted. 

The  old  man  came  nearer  to  him,  nodding  his  head 
towards   the   house.     "Heerd   the  news?"   he  asked, 
with  a  broad  grin  of  delight. 
"  257 


Abner    Daniel 

"What  news  is  that?"  Alan  asked,  dubiously. 

"  Young  Miss,"  a  name  given  Adele  by  the  negroes, 
and  sometimes  used  jestingly  by  the  family — "  Young 
Miss  has  knocked  the  props  clean  from  under  Miller." 

Alan  frowned  and  hung  his  head  for  a  moment ;  then 
he  said: 

"  Uncle  Ab,  do  you  remember  what  I  told  you  about 
Miller's  opinion  of  love  and  women  in  general?" 

The  old  man  saw  his  drift  and  burst  into  a  full,  round 
laugh. 

"I  know  you  told  me  what  he  said  about  love  an' 
women  in  general,  but  I  don't  know  as  you  said  what 
he  thought  about  women  in  particular.  This  heer's  a 
particular  case.  I  tell  you  she's  fixed  'im.  Yore  little 
sis  has  done  the  most  complete  job  out  o'  tough  ma 
terial  I  ever  inspected.  He's  a  gone  coon;  hell  never 
make  another  brag;  he's  tied  hand  an'  foot." 

Alan  looked  straight  into  his  uncle's  eyes.  A  light 
was  breaking  on  him.  "Uncle  Ab,"  he  said,  "do 
you  think  he  is — really  in  love  with  her?" 

"Ef  he  ain't,  an'  don't  ax  yore  pa  an'  ma  fer  'er 
before  a  month's  gone,  I'll  deed  you  my  farm.  Now, 
look  heer.  A  feller  knows  his  own  sister  less'n  he 
does  anybody  else;  that's  beca'se  you  never  have 
thought  of  Adele  follerin'  in  the  trail  of  womankind. 
You'd  hate  fer  a  brother  o'  that  town  gal  to  be  raisin' 
sand  about  you,  wouldn't  you?  Well,  you  go  right  on 
an'  let  them  two  kill  the'r  own  rats." 

Alan  and  his  uncle  were  returning  to  the  house  when 
Pole  Baker  dismounted  at  the  front  gate  and  came  into 
the  yard. 

Since  becoming  a  landed  proprietor  his  appearance 
had  altered  for  the  better  most  materially.  He  wore  a 
neat,  well-fitting  suit  of  clothes  and  a  new  hat,  but  of 
the  same  broad  dimensions  as  the  old.  Its  brim  was 
pinned  up  on  the  right  side  by  a  little  brass  ornament. 

258 


Abner   Daniel 

"I  seed  Mr.  Miller  drive  past  my  house  awhile  ago 
with  Miss  Adele,"  he  said,  "an'  I  come  right  over.  I 
want  to  see  all  of  you  together." 

Just  then  Miller  came  out  of  the  parlor  and  de 
scended  the  steps  to  join  them. 

"  Christmas  gift,  Mr.  Miller  1 ' '  cried  Pole.  "  I  ketched 
you  that  time." 

"And  if  I  paid  up,  you'd  cuss  me  out,"  retorted  the 
lawyer,  with  a  laugh.  "I  haven't  forgotten  the  row 
you  raised  about  that  suit  of  clothes.  Well,  what's 
the  news?  How's  your  family?" 

"About  as  common,  Mr.  Miller,"  said  Pole.  "My 
wife's  gittin'  younger  an'  younger  ever'  day.  Sence 
she  moved  in  'er  new  house,  an'  got  to  whitewashin' 
fences  an'  makin'  flower-beds,  an'  one  thing  another, 
she  looks  like  a  new  person.  I'd  'a'  bought  'er  a  house 
long  ago  ef  I'd  'a'  knowed  she  wanted  it  that  bad.  Oh, 
we  put  on  the  lugs  now!  We  wipe  with  napkins  after 
eating  an'  my  littlest  un  sets  in  a  high-chair  an'  says 
'Please  pass  the  gravy,'  like  he'd  been  off  to  school. 
Sally  says  she's  a-goin'  to  send  'em,  an'  I  don't  keer  ef 
she  does;  they'll  stand  head,  ef  they  go;  the'r  noggin's 
look  like  squashes,  but  they're  full  o'  seeds,  an'  don't 
you  ferget  it." 

"That  they  are  I"  intoned  Abner  Daniel. 

"I've  drapped  onto  a  little  news,"  said  Pole.  "You 
know  what  a  old  moonshiner  cayn't  pick  up  in 
these  mountains  from  old  pards  ain't  wuth  lookin' 
fer." 

"Railroad?"  asked  Miller,  interestedly. 

"  That's  fer  you-uns  to  make  out,"  said  Baker.  "  Now , 
I  ain't  a-goin'  to  give  away  my  authority,  but  I  rid 
twenty  miles  yesterday  to  substantiate  what  I  heerd, 
an'  know  it's  nothin'  but  the  truth.  You  all  know 
old  Bobby  Milburn's  been  buyin'  timber-land  up  about 
yore  property,  don't  you?" 

259 


Abner   Daniel 

"I  didn't  know  how  much,"  answered  Miller,  "but 
I  knew  he  had  secured  some." 

"  Fust  and  last  in  the  neighborhood  o'  six  thousand 
acres,"  affirmed  Pole,  "an'  he's  still  on  the  war-path. 
What  fust  attracted  my  notice  was  findin'  out  that  old 
Bobby  hain't  a  dollar  to  his  name.  That  made  me 
suspicious,  an'  I  went  to  work  to  investigate." 

"Good  boy!"  said  Uncle  Abner,  in  an  admiring 
undertone. 

"  Well,  I  found  out  he  was  usin'  Wilson's  money,  an' 
secretly  buyin'  fer  him;  an'  what's  more,  he  seems  to 
have  unlimited  authority,  an'  a  big  bank  account  to 
draw  from." 

There  was  a  startled  pause.  It  was  broken  by  Mil 
ler,  whose  eyes  were  gleaming  excitedly. 

"  It's  blame  good  news,"  he  said,  eying  Alan. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  Alan,  who  was  still  under 
his  cloud  of  displeasure  with  his  friend. 

"  Yes ;  it  simply  means  that  Wilson  intends  to  build 
that  road.  He's  been  quiet,  and  pretending  indif 
ference,  for  two  reasons.  First,  to  bring  us  to  closer 
terms,  and  next  to  secure  more  land.  Alan,  my  boy, 
the  plot  thickens!  I'm  getting  that  fellow  right  where 
I  want  him.  Pole,  you  have  brought  us  a  dandy 
Christmas  gift,  but  I'll  be  blamed  if  you  get  a  thing 
for  it.  I  don't  intend  to  get  shot." 

Then  they  all  went  to  find  Bishop  to  tell  him  the 
news. 


XXXI 

JT  was  a  cold,  dry  day  about  the  mid 
dle  of  January.  They  were  killing 
hogs  at  the  farm.  Seven  or  eight  ne 
groes,  men  and  women,  had  gathered 
from  all  about  in  the  neighborhood  to 
assist  in  the  work  and  get  the  parts 
of  the  meat  usually  given  away  in  payment  for  such 
services. 

Two  hogsheads  for  hot  water  were  half  buried  in 
the  ground.  A  big  iron  pot  with  a  fire  beneath  it  was 
heating  water  and  a  long  fire  of  logs  heaped  over  with 
big  stones  was  near  by.  When  hot,  the  stones  were  to 
be  put  into  the  cooling  water  to  raise  the  temperature, 
it  being  easier  to  do  this  than  to  replace  the  water  in 
the  pot.  The  hogs  to  be  killed  were  grunting  and 
squealing  in  a  big  pen  near  the  barn. 

Abner  Daniel  and  old  man  Bishop  were  superin 
tending  these  preparations  when  Alan  came  from  the 
house  to  say  that  Rayburn  Miller  had  just  ridden  out 
to  see  them  on  business.  "I  think  it's  the  railroad," 
Alan  informed  his  father,  who  always  displayed  signs 
of  almost  childish  excitement  when  the  subject  came 
up.  They  found  Miller  in  the  parlor  being  entertained 
by  Adele,  who  immediately  left  the  room  on  their  ar 
rival.  They  all  sat  down  before  the  cheerful  fire. 
Miller  showed  certain  signs  of  embarrassment  at  first, 
but  gradually  threw  them  off  and  got  down  to  the  mat 
ter  in  hand  quite  with  his  office  manner. 

261 


Abner   Daniel 

"I've  got  a  proposition  to  make  to  you,  Mr.  Bishop/' 
he  opened  up,  with  a  slight  flush  on  his  face.  "I've 
been  making  some  inquiries  about  Wilson,  and  I  am 
more  and  more  convinced  that  he  intends  to  freeze  us 
out — or  you  rather — by  holding  off  till  you  are  obliged 
to  sell  your  property  for  a  much  lower  figure  than  you 
now  ask  him  for  it." 

"You  think  so/'  grunted  Bishop,  pulling  a  long 
face. 

"  Yes ;  but  what  I  now  want  to  do  is  to  show  him, 
indirectly,  that  we  are  independent  of  him." 

"Huh!"  ejaculated  Bishop,  even  more  dejectedly — 
"huh!  I  say!" 

Alan  was  looking  at  Miller  eagerly,  as  if  trying  to 
divine  the  point  he  was  about  to  make.  "  I  must  con 
fess,"  he  smiled,  "that  I  can't  well  see  how  we  can 
show  independence  right  now." 

"Well,  I  think  I  see  a  way,"  said  Miller,  the  flush 
stealing  over  his  face  again.  "You  see,  there  is  no 
doubt  that  Wilson  is  on  his  high  horse  simply  because 
he  thinks  he  could  call  on  you  for  that  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars  and  put  you  to  some  trouble  raising 
it  without — without,  I  say,  throwing  your  land  on  the 
market.  I  can't  blame  him,"  Miller  went  on,  smiling, 
"for  it's  only  what  any  business  man  would  do,  who 
is  out  for  profit,  but  we  must  not  knuckle  to  him." 

"  Huh,  huh!"  Bishop  grunted,  in  deeper  despondency. 

"How  do  you  propose  to  get  around  the  knuckling 
process?"  asked  Alan,  who  had  caught  the  depression 
influencing  his  parent. 

"I'd  simply  take  up  that  note,"  said  the  lawyer. 
"You  know,  under  the  contract,  we  are  privileged  to 
pay  it  to-morrow  if  we  wish.  It  would  simply  paralyze 
him.  He's  so  confident  that  you  can't  take  it  up  that 
he  has  not  even  written  to  ask  if  you  want  to  renew  it 
or  not.  Yes ;  he's  confident  that  he'll  rake  in  that  se- 

262 


Abner  Daniel 

curity  —  so  confident  that  he  has  been,  as  you  know, 
secretly  buying  land  near  yours." 

Old  Bishop's  eyes  were  wide  open.  In  the  somewhat 
darkened  room  the  firelight  reflected  in  them  showed 
like  illuminated  blood -spots.  He  said  nothing,  but 
breathed  heavily. 

"  But/'  exclaimed  Alan,  "  Ray,  you  know  we — father 
has  invested  that  money,  and  the  truth  is,  that  he  and 
mother  have  already  had  so  much  worry  over  the  busi 
ness  that  they  would  rather  let  the  land  go  at  what  was 
raised  on  it  than  to — to  run  any  more  risks." 

Bishop  groaned  out  his  approval  of  this  elucidation 
of  his  condition  and  sat  silently  nodding  his  head. 
The  very  thought  of  further  risks  stunned  and  chilled 
him. 

Miller's  embarrassment  now  descended  on  him  in 
full  force. 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  having  your  father  disturb 
his  investments,"  he  said.  "  The  truth  is,  I  have  met 
with  a  little  financial  disappointment  in  a  certain  di 
rection.  For  the  last  three  months  I  have  been  raking 
and  scraping  among  the  dry  bones  of  my  investments 
to  get  up  exactly  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  to  se 
cure  a  leading  interest  in  a  cotton  mill  at  Darley,  of 
which  I  was  to  be  president.  I  managed  to  get  the 
money  together  and  only  yesterday  I  learned  that  the 
Northern  capital  that  was  to  guarantee  the  thing  was 
only  in  the  corner  of  a  fellow's  eye  up  in  Boston — a 
man  that  had  not  a  dollar  on  earth.  Well,  there  you 
are!  I've  my  twenty -five  thousand  dollars,  and  no 
place  to  put  it.  I  thought,  if  you  had  just  as  soon  owe 
me  the  money  as  Wilson,  that  you'd  really  be  doing 
me  a  favor  to  let  me  take  up  the  note.  You  see,  it 
would  actually  floor  him.  He  means  business,  and  this 
would  show  him  that  we  are  not  asking  any  favors  of 
him.  In  fact,  I  have  an  idea  it  would  scare  him  out 

263 


Abner   Daniel 

of  his  skin.  He'd  think  we  had  another  opportunity 
of  selling.  I'm  dying  to  do  this,  and  I  hope  you'll  let 
me  work  it.  Really,  I  think  you  ought  to  consent. 
I'd  never  drive  you  to  the  wall  and — well — he  might." 

All  eyes  were  on  the  speaker.  Bishop  had  the  dazed 
expression  of  a  bewildered  man  trying  to  believe  in 
sudden  good  luck.  Abner  Daniel  lowered  his  head 
and  shook  with  low,  subdued  laughter. 

"You  are  a  jim-dandy,  young  man,"  he  said  to  Mil 
ler.  "That's  all  there  is  about  it.  You  take  the  rag 
off  the  bush.  Oh,  my  Lord !  They  say  in  Alf 's  meet 
ing-house  that  it's  a  sin  to  play  poker  with  no  stakes, 
but  Alf's  in  a  game  with  half  the  earth  put  up  agin 
another  feller's  wad  as  big  as  a  bale  o'  hay.  Play 
down,  Alf.  Play  down.  You've  got  a  full  hand  an' 
plenty  to  draw  from." 

"We  couldn't  let  you  do  this,  Ray,"  expostulated 
Alan. 

"But  I  assure  you  it  is  merely  a  matter  of  business 
with  me,"  declared  the  lawyer.  "You  know  I'm  inter 
ested  myself,  and  I  believe  we  shall  come  out  all  right. 
I'm  simply  itching  to  do  it." 

Bishop's  face  was  ablaze.  The  assurance  that  a 
wise  young  business  man  would  consider  a  purchase 
of  his  of  sufficient  value  to  put  a  large  amount  of  money 
on  pleased  him,  banished  his  fears,  thrilled  him. 

"If  you  feel  that  way/'  he  said,  smiling  at  the  cor 
ners  of  his  mouth,  "go  ahead.  I  don't  know  but  what 
you  are  plumb  right.  It  will  show  Wilson  that  we 
ain't  beholden  to  him,  an'  will  set  'im  to  work  ef  any 
thing  will." 

So  it  was  finally  settled,  and  no  one  seemed  so  well 
pleased  with  the  arrangement  as  Miller  himself.  Adele 
entered  the  room  with  the  air  of  one  half  fearful  of 
intruding,  and  her  three  relatives  quietly  withdrew, 
leaving  her  to  entertain  the  guest. 

264 


Abner   Daniel 

"I  wonder  what's  the  matter  with  your  brother/' 
Miller  remarked,  as  his  eyes  followed  Alan  from  the 
room. 

"Oh,  brother?"  laughed  Adele.  "No  one  tries  to 
keep  up  with  his  whims  and  fancies." 

"But,  really,"  said  Miller,  in  a  serious  tone,  "he 
has  mystified  me  lately.  I  wonder  if  he  has  had  bad 
news  from  Dolly.  I've  tried  to  get  into  a  confidential 
chat  with  him  several  times  of  late,  but  he  seems  to 
get  around  it.  Really,  it  seems  to  me,  at  times,  that 
he  treats  me  rather  coldly." 

"Oh,  if  you  waste  time  noticing  Al  you'll  become 
a  beggar,"  and  Adele  gave  another  amused  laugh. 
"Take  my  advice  and  let  him  alone." 

"I  almost  believe  you  know  what  ails  him,"  said 
Miller,  eying  her  closely. 

"  I  know  what  he  thinks  ails  him,"  the  girl  responded. 

"And  won't  you  tell  me  what — what  he  thinks  ails 
him?" 

"No,  I  couldn't  do  that,"  answered  our  young  lady, 
with  a  knowing  smile.  "  If  you  are  ever  any  wiser  on 
the  subject  you  will  have  to  get  your  wisdom  from 
him." 

She  turned  to  the  piano  and  began  to  arrange  some 
scattered  pieces  of  music,  and  he  remained  on  the  hearth, 
his  back  to  the  fire,  his  brow  wrinkled  in  pleased  per 
plexity. 

"I'll  have  to  get  my  wisdom  from  him,"  repeated 
Miller,  pronouncing  each  word  with  separate  distinct 
ness,  as  if  one  of  them  might  prove  the  key  to  the  mys 
tery. 

"Yes,  I  should  think  two  wise  men  could  settle  a 
little  thing  like  that.  If  not,  you  may  call  in  the  third 
— you  know  there  were  three  of  you,  according  to  the 
Bible." 

"Oh,  so  there  were,"  smiled  Miller;  "but  it's  hard 
265 


Abner   Daniel 

to  tell  when  we  three  shall  meet  again.  The  last  time 
I  saw  the  other  two  they  were  having  their  sandals 
half-soled  for  a  tramp  across  the  desert.  I  came  this 
way  to  build  a  railroad,  and  I  believe  I'm  going  to  do 
it.  That's  linking  ancient  and  modern  times  together 
with  a  coupling-pin,  isn't  it?" 

She  came  from  the  piano  and  stood  by  him,  looking 
down  into  the  fire.  "  Ah,"  she  said,  seriously,  "  if  you 
could  only  do  it!" 

,     "Would  you  like  it  very  much?" 
•     "Very,  very  much;  it  means  the  world  to  us — to 
Alan,  to  father  and  mother,  and — yes,  to  me.     I  hunger 
for  independence." 

"Then  it  shall  be  done,"  he  said,  fervently. 


XXXII 

S  the  elevator  in  the  big  building  was 
taking  Rayburn  Miller  up  to  the  offices 
of  the  Southern  Land  and  Timber 
Company,  many  reflections  passed  hur 
riedly  through  his  mind. 

"You  are  going  to  get  the  usual 
cold  shoulder  from  Wilson,"  he  mused;  "but  he'll  put 
it  up  against  something  about  as  warm  as  he's  touched 
in  many  a  day.  If  you  don't  make  him  squirm,  it 
will  be  only  because  you  don't  want  to." 

Wilson  was  busy  at  his  desk  looking  over  bills  of 
lading,  receipts,  and  other  papers,  and  now  and  then 
giving  instructions  to  a  typewriter  in  the  corner  of  the 
room. 

"Ah!  how  are  you,  Miller?"  he  said,  indifferently, 
giving  the  caller  his  hand  without  rising.  "Down  to 
see  the  city  again,  eh?" 

Rayburn  leaned  on  the  top  of  the  desk,  and  knocked 
the  ashes  from  his  cigar  with  the  tip  of  his  little  finger. 
"Partly  that  and  partly  business, "he  returned,  care 
lessly. 

"Two  birds,  eh?" 

"  That's  about  it.  I  concluded  you  were  not  com 
ing  up  our  way  soon,  and  so  I  decided  to  drop  in  on 
you." 

"Yes,  glad  you  did."  Wilson  glanced  at  the  papers 
on  his  desk  and  frowned.  "  Wish  I  had  more  time  at 
my  disposal.  I'd  run  up  to  the  club  with  you  and 

267 


Abner   Daniel 

show  you  my  Kentucky  thoroughbreds,  but  I  really 
am  rushed,  to-day  particularly." 

"Oh,  I  haven't  a  bit  of  time  to  spare  myself!  I  take 
the  afternoon  train  home.  The  truth  is,  I  came  to  see 
you  for  my  clients,  the  Bishops." 

"  Ah,  I  see. "  Wilson's  face  clouded  over  by  some  me 
chanical  arrangement  known  only  to  himself.  "Well, 
I  can't  really  report  any  progress  in  that  matter/'  he 
said.  "All  the  company  think  Bishop's  figures  are 
away  out  of  reason,  and  the  truth  is,  right  now,  we 
are  over  head  and  ears  in  operations  in  other  quarters, 
and — well,  you  see  how  it  is?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do."  Miller  smoked  a  moment. 
"In  fact,  I  told  my  clients  last  month  that  the  matter 
was  not  absorbing  your  attention,  and  so  they  gave  up 
counting  on  you." 

Wilson  so  far  forgot  his  pose  that  he  looked  up  in  a 
startled  sort  of  way  and  began  to  study  Miller's  smoke- 
wrapped  profile. 

"You  say  they  are  not — have  not  been  counting  on 
my  company  to — to  buy  their  land?" 

"Why,  no,"  said  Miller,  in  accents  well  resembling 
those  of  slow  and  genuine  surprise.  "  Why,  you  have 
not  shown  the  slightest  interest  in  the  matter  since 
the  day  you  made  the  loan,  and  naturally  they  ceased 
to  think  you  wanted  the  land.  The  only  reason  I 
called  was  that  the  note  is  payable  to-day,  and — " 

"  Oh  yes,  by  Jove !  that  was  careless  of  me.  The  in 
terest  is  due.  I  knew  it  would  be  all  right,  and  I  had 
no  idea  you  would  bother  to  run  down  for  that.  Why, 
my  boy,  we  could  have  drawn  for  it,  you  know." 

Miller  smiled  inwardly,  as  he  looked  calmly  and 
fixedly  through  his  smoke  into  the  unsuspecting  visage 
upturned  to  him. 

"But  the  note  itself  is  payable  to-day/'  he  said, 
closely  on  the  alert  for  a  facial  collapse;  "and,  while 

268 


Abner   Daniel 

you  or  I  might  take  up  a  paper  for  twenty-five  thou 
sand  dollars  through  a  bank,  old-fashioned  people 
like  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bishop  would  feel  safer  to  have  it 
done  by  an  agent.  That's  why  I  came." 

Miller,  in  silent  satisfaction,  saw  the  face  of  his  an 
tagonist  fall  to  pieces  like  an  artificial  flower  suddenly 
shattered. 

"  Pay  the  note?"  gasped  Wilson.     "  Why — " 

Miller  puffed  at  his  cigar  and  gazed  at  his  victim 
as  if  slightly  surprised  over  the  assumption  that  his 
clients  had  not,  all  along,  intended  to  avail  themselves 
of  that  condition  in  their  contract. 

"You  mean  that  the  Bishops  are  ready  to — "  Wil 
son  began  again  on  another  breath  —  "  to  pay  us  the 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars?" 

"And  the  interest  for  six  months,"  quietly  added 
Miller,  reaching  for  a  match  on  the  desk.  "I  reckon 
you've  got  the  note  here.  I  don't  want  to  miss  my 
train." 

Wilson  was  a  good  business  man,  but  his  Puritani 
cal  training  in  New  England  had  not  fitted  him  for 
wily  diplomacy;  besides,  he  had  not  expected  to  meet 
a  diplomat  that  day,  and  did  not,  even  now,  realize 
that  he  was  in  the  hands  of  one.  He  still  believed  that 
Miller  was  only  a  half-educated  country  lawyer  who 
had  barely  enough  brains  and  experience  to  succeed 
as  a  legal  servant  for  mountain  clients.  Hence,  he 
now  made  little  effort  to  conceal  his  embarrassment 
into  which  the  sudden  turn  of  affairs  had  plunged 
him.  In  awkward  silence  he  squirmed  in  his  big  chair. 

"Of  course,  they  can  take  up  their  note  to-day  if 
they  wish,"  he  said,  with  alarmed  frankness.  "I  was 
not  counting  on  it,  though."  He  rose  to  his  feet.  Mil 
ler's  watchful  eye  detected  a  certain  trembling  of  his 
lower  lip.  He  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  ner 
vously,  and  in  a  tone  of  open  irritation  he  said  to  the 

269 


Abner   Daniel 

young  man  at  the  typewriter :  "  Brown,  I  wish  you'd 
let  up  on  that  infernal  clicking ;  sometimes  I  can  stand 
it,  and  then  again  I  can't.  You  can  do  those  letters 
in  the  next  room." 

When  the  young  man  had  gone  out,  carrying  his 
machine,  Wilson  turned  to  Miller.  "  As  I  understand 
it,  you,  personally,  have  no  interest  in  the  Bishop 
property?" 

"Oh,  not  a  dollarl"  smiled  the  lawyer.  "I'm  only 
acting  for  them." 

"Then" — Wilson  drove  his  hands  into  his  pockets 
again — "  perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind  telling  me  if  the 
Bishops  are  on  trade  with  other  parties.  Are  they?" 

Miller  smiled  and  shook  his  head.  "  As  their  law 
yer,  Mr.  Wilson,  I  simply  couldn't  answer  that  ques 
tion." 

The  blow  was  well  directed  and  it  struck  a  vulnerable 
spot. 

"1  beg  your  pardon,"  Wilson  stammered.  "I  did 
not  mean  to  suggest  that  you  would  betray  confidence. " 
He  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  he  said,  in  a  flurried 
tone,  "They  have  not  actually  sold  out,  have  they?" 

Miller  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  he  answered : 
"I  don't  see  any  reason  why  I  may  not  answer  that 
question  I  don't  think  my  clients  would  object  to  my 
saying  that  they  have  not  yet  accepted  any  offer." 

A  look  of  relief  suffused  itself  over  Wilson's  broad 
face. 

"Then  they  are  still  open  to  accept  their  offer  to 
me?" 

Miller  laughed  as  if  highly  amused  at  the  complica 
tion  of  the  matter. 

"They  are  bound,  you  remember,  only  so  long  as 
you  hold  their  note." 

"Then  I  tell  you  what  to  do,"  proposed  Wilson. 
"  Go  back  and  tell  them  not  to  bother  about  payment, 

270 


Abner    Daniel 

for  a  few  days,  anyway,  and  that  we  will  soon  tell 
them  positively  whether  we  will  pay  their  price  or  not. 
That's  fair,  isn't  it?" 

"It  might  seem  so  to  a  man  personally  interested 
in  the  deal/'  admitted  Miller,  as  the  introduction  to 
another  of  his  blows  from  the  shoulder ;  "  but  as  lawyer 
for  my  clients  I  can  only  obey  orders,  like  the  boy  who 
stood  on  the  burning  deck." 

Wilson's  face  fell.  The  remote  clicking  of  the  type 
writer  seemed  to  grate  upon  his  high-wrought  nerves, 
and  he  went  and  slammed  the  partly  opened  door,  mut 
tering  something  like  an  oath.  On  that  slight  journey, 
however,  he  caught  an  idea. 

"Suppose  you  wire  them  my  proposition  and  wait 
here  for  a  reply,"  he  suggested. 

Miller  frowned.  "That  would  do  no  good,"  he 
said.  "I'm  sorry  I  can't  explain  fully,  but  the  truth 
is  this :  I  happen  to  know  that  they  wish,  for  reasons 
of  their  own,  to  take  up  the  note  you  hold,  and  that 
nothing  else  will  suit  them." 

At  this  juncture  Wilson  lost  his  grip  on  all  self-pos 
session,  and  degenerated  into  the  sullen  anger  of  sharp 
and  unexpected  disappointment. 

"I  don't  feel  that  we  are  being  fairly  treated,"  he 
said.  "  We  most  naturally  assumed  that  your  clients 
wanted  to — to  extend  our  option  on  the  property  for  at 
least  another  six  months.  We  assumed  that  from 
the  fact  that  we  had  no  notification  from  them  that 
they  would  be  ready  to  pay  the  note  to-day.  That's 
where  we  feel  injured,  Mr.  Miller." 

Ray  burn  threw  his  cigar  into  a  cuspidor;  his  at 
titude  of  being  a  non-interested  agent  was  simply  a 
stroke  of  genius.  Behind  this  plea  he  crouched,  show 
ing  himself  only  to  fire  shots  that  played  havoc  with 
whatever  they  struck. 

"  I  believe  my  clients  did  feel,  I  may  say,  honor  bound 
271 


Abner    Daniel 

to  you  to  sell  for  the  price  they  offered;  but — now  I 
may  be  mistaken — but  I'm  sure  they  were  under  the 
impression,  as  I  was,  too,  that  you  only  wanted  the 
property  provided  you  could  build  a  railroad  from  Dar- 
ley  to  it,  and — " 

"  Well,  that's  true,"  broke  in  Wilson.  "  That's  quite 
true." 

"And,"  finished  Miller,  still  behind  his  inevitable 
fortification,  "they  tell  me  that  you  have  certainly 
shown  indifference  to  the  project  ever  since  the  note 
was  given.  In  fact,  they  asked  me  pointedly  if  I 
thought  you  meant  business,  and  I  was  forced,  con 
scientiously,  to  tell  them  that  I  thought  you  seemed  to 
have  other  fish  to  fry." 

Wilson  glared  at  the  lawyer  as  if  he  wanted  to  kick 
him  for  a  stupid  idiot  who  could  not  do  two  things  at 
once — work  for  the  interests  of  his  clients  and  not 
wreck  his  plans  also.  It  had  been  a  long  time  since 
he  had  found  himself  in  such  a  hot  frying-pan. 

"So  you  think  the  thing  is  off,"  he  said,  desperately, 
probably  recalling  several  purchases  of  land  he  had 
made  in  the  section  he  had  expected  to  develop.  "  You 
think  it's  off?" 

"I  hardly  know  what  to  say,"  said  Miller.  "The 
old  gentleman,  Mr.  Bishop,  is  a  slow-going  old-timer, 
but  his  son  is  rather  up  to  date,  full  of  energy  and  am 
bition.  I  think  he's  made  up  his  mind  to  sell  that 
property." 

Wilson  went  to  his  desk,  hovered  over  it  like  a  dark, 
human  cloud,  and  then  reluctantly  turned  to  the  big 
iron  safe  against  the  wall,  obviously  to  get  the  note. 
His  disappointment  was  too  great  for  concealment. 
With  his  fat,  pink  hand  on  the  silver-plated  combi 
nation-bolt  he  turned  to  Miller  again. 

"Would  you  mind  sitting  down  till  I  telephone  one 
or  two  of  the  directors?" 

272 


Abner   Daniel 

"Not  at  all/'  said  Miller,  "if  you'll  get  me  a  cigar 
and  the  Constitution.  The  Atlanta  baseball  team 
played  Mobile  yesterday,  and  I  was  wondering — " 

"I  don't  keep  track  of  such  things/'  said  Wilson, 
coming  back  to  his  desk,  with  an  impatient  frown,  to 
ring  his  call-bell  for  the  office-boy. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  believe  football  is  your  national  sport," 
said  Miller,  with  a  dry  smile.  "  Well,  it's  only  a  dif 
ference  between  arms  and  legs — whole  bones  and  casu 
alties." 

Wilson  ordered  the  cigar  and  paper  when  the  boy 
appeared,  and,  leaving  the  lawyer  suddenly,  he  went 
into  the  room  containing  the  telephone,  closing  the 
door  after  him. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  reappeared,  standing  before 
Miller,  who  was  chewing  a  cold  cigar  and  attentively 
reading.  He  looked  up  at  Wilson  abstractedly. 

"Bully  for  Atlanta!"  he  said.  "The  boys  made 
ten  runs  before  the  Mobiles  had  scored — " 

"Oh,  come  down  to  business!"  said  the  New-Eng- 
lander,  with  a  ready-made  smile.  "  Honestly,  I  don't 
believe  you  drowsy  Southerners  ever  will  get  over  your 
habit  of  sleeping  during  business  hours.  It  seems  to 
be  bred  in  the  bone." 

Miller  laughed  misleadingly.  "Try  to  down  us  at 
a  horse-race  and  we'll  beat  you  in  the  middle  of  the 
night.  Hang  it  all,  man,  you  don't  know  human  nat 
ure,  that's  all!  How  can  you  expect  me,  on  my  measly 
fees,  to  dance  a  breakdown  over  business  I  am  trans 
acting  for  other  people?" 

"  Well,  that  may  account  for  it,"  admitted  Wilson, 
who  seemed  bent  on  being  more  agreeable  in  the  light 
of  some  fresh  hopes  he  had  absorbed  from  the  telephone- 
wires.  "See  here,  I've  got  a  rock-bottom  proposal  to 
make  to  your  people.  Now  listen,  and  drop  that  damned 
paper  for  a  minute.  By  Jove!  if  I  had  to  send  a  man 
i!  273 


Abner  Daniel 

from  your  State  to  attend  to  legal  business  Fd  pick 
one  not  full  of  mental  morphine." 

"Oh,  you  wouldn't?"  Miller  laid  down  the  paper 
and  assumed  a  posture  indicative  of  attention  roused 
from  deep  .sleep.  "Fire  away.  I'm  listening." 

"  I  already  had  authority  to  act  for  the  company,  but 
I  thought  it  best  to  telephone  some  of  the  directors." 
Wilson  sat  down  in  his  chair  and  leaned  towards  the 
lawyer.  "Here's  what  we  will  do.  The  whole  truth 
is,  we  are  willing  to  plank  down  the  required  one  hun 
dred  thousand  for  that  property,  provided  we  can  lay 
our  road  there  without  incurring  the  expense  of  pur 
chasing  the  right  of  way.  Now  if  the  citizens  along 
the  proposed  line  want  their  country  developed  bad 
enough  to  donate  the  right  of  way  through  their  lands, 
we  can  trade." 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  Miller  broke  it  by  strik 
ing  a  match  on  the  sole  of  his  boot.  He  looked  cross 
eyed  at  the  flame  as  he  applied  it  to  his  cigar.  "  Don't 
you  think  your  people  could  stand  whatever  value 
is  appraised  by  law  in  case  of  refusals  along  the 
line?" 

"No,"  said  Wilson.  "The  price  for  the  land  is  too 
steep  for  that.  Your  clients  have  our  ultimatum. 
What  do  you  say?  We  can  advertise  a  meeting  of 
citizens  at  Springtown,  which  is  about  the  centre  of 
the  territory  involved,  and  if  all  agree  to  give  the  right 
of  way  it  will  be  a  trade.  We  can  have  the  meeting 
set  for  to-day  two  weeks.  How  does  that  strike  you?" 

"I'd  have  to  wire  my  clients." 

"When  can  you  get  an  answer?" 

Miller  looked  at  his  watch.  "By  five  o'clock  this 
afternoon.  The  message  would  have  to  go  into  the 
country." 

"  Then  send  it  off  at  once." 

A  few  minutes  after  five  o'clock  Miller  sauntered 
274 


Abner   Daniel 

into  the  office.     Wilson  sat  at  his  desk  and  looked  up 
eagerly. 

"Well?"  he  asked,  almost  under  his  breath. 

The  lawyer  leaned  on  the  top  of  the  desk.  "They 
are  willing  to  grant  you  the  two  weeks'  time,  provided 
you  sign  an  agreement  for  your  firm  that  you  will  pur 
chase  their  property  at  the  price  named  at  the  expira 
tion  of  that  time." 

"With  the  provision/'  interpolated  Wilson,  "that  a 
right  of  way  is  donated." 

"Yes,  with  that  provision,"  Miller  nodded. 

"Then  sit  down  here  and  write  out  your  paper." 

Miller  complied  as  nonchalantly  as  if  he  were  draw 
ing  up  a  bill  of  sale  for  a  worn-out  horse. 

"There  you  are,"  he  said,  pushing  the  paper  to 
Wilson  when  he  had  finished. 

Wilson  read  it  critically.  "  It  certainly  is  binding," 
he  said.  "You  people  may  sleep  during  business 
hours,  but  you  have  your  eyes  open  when  you  draw 
up  papers.  However,  I  don't  care ;  I  want  the  Bishops 
to  feel  secure.  They  must  get  to  work  to  secure  the 
right  of  way.  It  will  be  no  easy  job,  I'll  let  you  know. 
I've  struck  shrewd,  obstinate  people  in  my  life,  but 
those  up  there  beat  the  world.  Noah  couldn't  have 
driven  them  in  the  ark,  even  after  the  Flood  set  in." 

"You  know  something  about  them,  then?"  said 
Miller,  laughing  to  himself  over  the  implied  confession. 

Wilson  flushed,  and  then  admitted  that  he  had  been 
up  that  way  several  times  looking  the  situation  over. 

"  How  about  the  charter?"  asked  Miller,  indifferently. 

"That's  fixed.     I  have  already  seen  to  that." 

"  Then  it  all  depends  on  the  right  of  way,"  remarked 
the  lawyer  as  he  drew  a  check  from  his  pocket  and 
handed  it  to  Wilson.  "Now  get  me  that  note/'  he 
said. 

Wilson  brought  it  from  the  safe. 
275 


Abner  Daniel 

"Turning  this  over  cuts  my  option  down  to  two 
weeks/'  he  said.  "But  we'll  know  at  the  meeting 
what  can  be  done." 

"  Yes,  we'll  know  then  what  they  can  do  with  you," 
said  Miller,  significantly,  as  he  put  the  cancelled  note 
in  his  pocket  and  rose  to  go. 


XXXIII 

|HEN  Miller's  train  reached  Barley  and 
he  alighted  in  the  car -shed,  he  was 
met  by  a  blinding  snow  -  storm.  He 
could  see  the  dim  lantern  of  the  hotel 
porter  as  he  came  towards  him  through 
the  slanting  feathery  sheet  and  the  yet 
dimmer  lights  of  the  hotel. 

"Heer!  Marse Miller !"  shouted  the  darky;  "look  out 
fer  dat  plank  er  you'll  fall  in  er  ditch.  Marse  Alan 
Bishop  is  at  de  hotel,  an'  he  say  tell  you  ter  stop  dar 
— dat  you  couldn't  git  home  in  dis  sto'm  no  how." 

"  Oh,  he's  in  town,"  said  Miller.  "  Well,  I  was  think 
ing  of  spending  the  night  at  the  hotel,  anyway." 

In  the  office  of  the  hotel,  almost  the  only  occupant 
of  the  room  besides  the  clerk,  sat  Abner  Daniel,  at  the 
red-hot  coal  stove. 

"Why,"  exclaimed  Miller,  in  surprise,  "I  didn't 
know  you  were  in  town." 

"The  fact  is,  we're  all  heer,"  smiled  the  old  man, 
standing  up  and  stretching  himself.  He  looked  as  if 
he  had  been  napping.  "  We  fetched  the  women  in  to 
do  some  tradin',  an'  this  storm  blowed  up.  We  could 
'a'  made  it  home  all  right,"  he  laughed  out  impulsive 
ly,  "but  the  last  one  of  'em  wanted  a  excuse  to  stay 
over.  They  are  et  up  with  curiosity  to  know  how  yore 
trip  come  out.  They  are  all  up  in  Betsy  an'  Alf 's  room. 
Go  up?" 

"Yes,  I  reckon  I'd  better  relieve  their  minds." 

277 


Abner   Daniel 

Abner  offered  to  pilot  him  to  the  room  in  question, 
and  when  it  was  reached  the  old  man  opened  the 
door  without  knocking.  "  Heer's  the  man  you've  been 
hankerin'  to  see  all  day/'  he  announced,  jovially.  "I 
fetched  'im  straight  up." 

They  all  rose  from  their  seats  around  the  big  grate- 
fire  and  shook  hands  with  the  lawyer. 

"  He  looks  like  he  has  news  of  some  kind/'  said  Adele, 
who  was  studying  his  face  attentively.  "Now,  sir, 
sit  down  and  tell  us  are  we  to  be  rich  or  poor,  bank 
rupt  or  robber." 

"  Don't  put  the  most  likely  word  last/'  said  Abner, 
dryly. 

"Well,"  began  Miller,  as  he  sat  down  in  the  semi 
circle.  "  As  it  now  stands,  we've  got  a  chance  to  gain 
our  point.  I  have  a  signed  agreement — and  a  good 
one — that  your  price  will  be  paid  if  we  can  get  the  citi 
zens  through  whose  property  the  road  passes  to  do 
nate  a  right  of  way.  That's  the  only  thing  that  now 
stands  between  you  and  a  cash  sale." 

"They'll  do  it,  I  think,"  declared  Alan,  elatedly. 

"I  dunno  about  that,"  said  Abner.  "It's  owin' 
to  whose  land  is  to  be  donated.  "  Thar's  some  skunks 
over  in  them  mountains  that  wouldn't  let  the  gates  o' 
heaven  swing  over  the'r  property  except  to  let  them 
selves  through." 

No  one  laughed  at  this  remark  save  Abner  himself. 
Mrs.  Bishop  was  staring  straight  into  the  fire.  Her 
husband  leaned  forward  and  twirled  his  stiff  fingers 
slowly  in  front  of  him. 

"Huh!  So  it  depends  on  that,"  he  said.  "Well, 
it  does  look  like  mighty  nigh  anybody  ud  ruther 
see  a  railroad  run  out  thar  than  not,  but  I'm  no 
judge." 

"  Well,  it  is  to  be  tested  two  weeks  from  now," 
Miller  said.  And  then  he  went  into  a  detailed  and 

278 


Abner   Daniel 

amusing  account  of  how  he  had  brought  Wilson  to 
terms. 

"Well,  that  beats  the  Dutch!"  laughed  Abner.  "I'd 
ruther  'a'  been  thar  'an  to  a  circus.  You  worked  'im 
to  a  queen's  taste — as  fine  as  split  silk.  You  'n'  Pole 
Baker  'd  make  a  good  team — you  to  look  after  the  bon- 
tons  an'  him  to  rake  in  the  scum  o'  mankind.  I  don't 
know  but  Pole  could  dress  up  an'  look  after  both  ends, 
once  in  a  while,  ef  you  wanted  to  take  a  rest." 

"  I'm  always  sorry  when  I  heer  of  it  bein'  necessary 
to  resort  to  trickery,"  ventured  Mrs.  Bishop,  in  her 
mild  way.  "It  don't  look  exactly  right  to  me." 

"  I  don't  like  it,  nuther,"  said  Bishop.  "  Ef  the  land's 
wuth  the  money,  an' — " 

"The  trouble  with  Alf,"  broke  in  Abner,  "is  that 
with  all  his  Bible  readin'  he  never  seems  to  git  any 
practical  benefit  out'n  it.  Now,  when  I'm  in  doubt 
about  whether  a  thing's  right  or  wrong,  I  generally 
find  some  Scriptural  sanction  fer  the  side  I  want  to 
win.  Some'rs  in  the  Bible  thar  was  a  big,  rich  king 
that  sent  a  pore  feller  off  to  git  'im  kilt  in  battle  so 
he  could  add  his  woman  to  his  collection.  Now,  no 
harm  ever  come  to  the  king  that  I  know  of,  an',  fer 
my  part,  I  don't  think  what  you  did  to  yank  Wil 
son  into  line  was  nigh  as  bad,  beca'se  you  was  work- 
in'  fer  friends.  Then  Wilson  was  loaded  fer  bear  his- 
se'f.  War's  over,  I  reckon,  but  when  Wilson's  sort 
comes  down  heer  expectin'  to  ride  rough-shod  over  us 
agin,  I  feel  like  givin'  a  war-whoop  an'  rammin'  home 
a  Minie  ball." 

"  I  sha'n't  worry  about  the  morality  of  the  thing," 
said  Miller.  "  Wilson  was  dead  set  on  crushing  you 
to  powder.  I  saw  that.  Besides,  if  he  takes  the  prop 
erty  and  builds  the  road,  he'll  make  a  lot  of  money  out 
of  it." 

After  this  the  conversation  languished,  and,  think- 
279 


Abner   Daniel 

ing  that  the  old  people  might  wish  to  retire,  Miller  bade 
them  good-night  and  went  to  his  own  room. 

A  snow  of  sufficient  thickness  for  sleighing  in  that 
locality  was  a  rare  occurrence,  and  the  next  morning 
an  odd  scene  presented  itself  in  front  of  the  hotel.  The 
young  men  of  the  near-by  stores  had  hastily  impro 
vised  sleds  by  taking  the  wheels  from  buggies  and 
fastening  the  axles  to  rough  wooden  runners,  and 
were  making  engagements  to  take  the  young  ladies 
of  the  town  sleighing. 

"Have  you  ever  ridden  in  a  sleigh?"  Miller  asked 
Adele,  as  they  stood  at  a  window  in  the  parlor  witness 
ing  these  preparations. 

"Never  in  my  life,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  you  shall,"  he  said.  "  I'll  set  a  carpenter  at 
work  on  my  buggy,  and  be  after  you  in  an  hour.  Get 
your  wraps.  My  pair  of  horses  will  make  one  of  those 
sleds  fairly  spin." 

About  eleven  o'clock  that  morning  Alan  saw  them 
returning  from  their  ride,  and,  much  to  his  surprise,  he 
noted  that  Dolly  Barclay  was  with  them.  As  they 
drew  up  at  the  entrance  of  the  hotel,  Alan  doffed  his 
hat  and  stepped  forward  to  assist  the  ladies  out  of  the 
sled. 

"Miss  Dolly  won't  stop,"  said  Miller.  "Get  in  and 
drive  her  around.  She's  hardly  had  a  taste  of  it;  we 
only  picked  her  up  as  we  passed  her  house." 

Alan's  heart  bounded  and  then  it  sank.  Miller 
was  smiling  at  him  knowingly.  "Go  ahead,"  he 
said,  pushing  him  gently  towards  the  sled.  "It's  all 
right." 

Hardly  knowing  if  he  were  acting  wisely,  Alan  took 
the  reins  and  sat  down  by  Dolly. 

Adele  stepped  up  behind  to  say  good  -  bye  to  Dolly, 
and  they  kissed  each  other.  It  was  barely  audible, 

280 


Abner  Daniel 

and  yet  it  reached  the  ears  of  the  restive  horses  and 
they  bounded  away  like  the  wind. 

"A  peculiar  way  to  start  horses/'  Alan  laughed. 

"  A  pleasant  way/'  she  said.  "  Your  sister  is  a  dear, 
dear  girl/' 

Then  he  told  her  his  fears  in  regard  to  what  her 
father  would  think  of  his  driving  with  her. 

"He's  out  of  town  to-day/'  she  answered,  with  a 
frank  upward  glance,  "and  mother  wouldn't  care." 

"Then  I'm  going  to  enjoy  it  fully,"  he  said.  "I've 
been  dying  to  see  you,  Dolly." 

"And  do  you  suppose  I  haven't  wanted  to  see  you? 
When  Mr.  Miller  proposed  this  just  now  it  fairly  took 
my  breath  away.  I  was  afraid  you  might  happen 
not  to  be  around  the  hotel.  Oh,  there  is  so  much  I 
want  to  say — and  so  little  time." 

"When  I'm  with  you  I  can't  talk,"  he  said.  "It 
seems,  in  some  way,  to  take  up  time  like  the  ticking  of 
a  clock.  I  simply  want  to  close  my  eyes,  and — be 
with  you,  Dolly— YOU." 

"  I  know,  but  we  must  be  practical,  and  think  of  the 
future.  Mr.  Miller  tells  me  there  is  a  chance  for  your 
big  scheme  to  succeed.  Oh,  if  it  only  would!" 

"Yes,  a  pretty  good  chance,"  he  told  her;  "but  even 
then  your  father — " 

"He'd  not  hold  out  against  you  then,"  said  Dolly, 
just  for  an  impulsive  moment  clasping  his  arm  as  they 
shot  through  a  snow-drift  and  turned  a  corner  of  the 
street  leading  into  the  country. 

"Then  it  must  succeed,"  he  said,  looking  at  her 
tenderly.  "It  must,  Dolly." 

"I  shall  pray  for  it — that  and  nothing  else." 

Feeling  the  slack  reins  on  their  backs,  the  horses 
slowed  up  till  they  were  plodding  along  lazily.  Sud 
denly  the  sled  began  to  drag  on  the  clay  road  where 
the  wind  had  bared  it  of  snow,  and  the  h  )rses  stopped 

281 


Abner   Daniel 

of  their  own  accord,  looking  back  at  their  increased 
burden  inquiringly.  Alan  made  no  effort  to  start  them 
on  again.  It  was  a  sequestered  spot,  well  hidden  from 
the  rest  of  the  road  by  an  old  hedge  of  Osage  orange 
bushes. 

"We  must  not  stop,  dear,"  Dolly  said,  laying  her 
hand  again  on  his  arm.  "  You  know  driving  is — is 
different  from  this.  As  long  as  we  are  moving  in  any 
direction,  I  have  no  scruples,  but  to  stop  here  in  the 
road — no,  it  won't  do." 

"I  was  just  wondering  if  we  can  start  them,"  he 
said,  a  mischievous  look  in  his  laughing  eye. 

"Start  them?"  She  extended  her  hand  for  the 
reins,  but  he  held  them  out  of  her  reach.  "  Why,  what 
do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  you  saw  the  way  they  were  started  at  the 
hotel,"  he  answered,  in  quite  a  serious  tone.  "Ray 
has  trained  them  that  way.  They  won't  budge  an 
inch  unless — " 

"Oh,  you  silly  boy!"  Dolly  was  flushing  charm 
ingly. 

"It's  true,"  he  said.  "I'm  sorry  if  you  object,  for 
it's  absolutely  the  only  available  way." 

She  raised  her  full,  trusting  eyes  to  his. 

"  You  make  me  want  to  kiss  you,  Alan,  but — " 

He  did  not  let  her  finish.  Putting  his  arm  around 
her,  he  drew  her  close  to  him  and  kissed  her  on  the 
lips.  "Now,  darling,"  he  said,  "you  are  mine." 

"Yes,  I  am  yours,  Alan." 

As  they  were  nearing  her  house  he  told  her  that 
Wilson  had  agents  out  secretly  buying  land,  and  that 
she  must  not  allow  her  father  to  dispose  of  his  tim 
bered  interests  until  it  was  decided  whether  the  rail 
road  would  be  built. 

She  promised  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  Colonel's  trans 
actions  and  do  all  she  could  to  prevent  him  from  taking 

282 


Abner   Daniel 

a  false  step.  "You  may  not  know  it,"  she  said,  "but 
I'm  his  chief  adviser.  He'll  be  apt  to  mention  any  offer 
he  gets  to  me." 

"Well,  don't  tell  him  about  the  railroad  unless  you 
have  to,"  he  said,  in  parting  with  her  at  the  gate.  "  But 
it  would  be  glorious  to  have  him  profit  by  our  scheme, 
and  I  think  he  will." 

"We  are  going  to  hope  for  success,  anyway,  aren't 
we?"  she  said,  leaning  over  the  gate.  "  I  have  believed 
in  you  so  much  that  I  feel  almost  sure  you  are  to  be 
rewarded." 

"Miller  thinks  the  chances  are  good,"  he  told  her, 
"  but  father  is  afraid  those  men  over  there  will  do  their 
best  to  ruin  the  whole  thing." 

Dolly  waved  her  handkerchief  to  some  one  at  a  win 
dow  of  the  house.  "It's  mother,"  she  said.  "She's 
shaking  her  finger  at  me." 

"I  reckon  she's  mad  at  me,"  said  Alan,  disconso 
lately. 

"Not  much,"  Dolly  laughed.  "She's  simply  crazy 
to  come  out  and  gossip  with  us.  She  would,  too,  if 
she  wasn't  afraid  of  father.  Oh,  young  man,  you'll 
have  a  mother-in-law  that  will  reverse  the  order  of 
things!  Instead  of  her  keeping  you  straight,  you'll 
have  to  help  us  manage  her.  Father  says  she's  'as 
wild  as  a  buck. ' ' 

They  both  laughed  from  the  fulness  of  their  happi 
ness.  A  buggy  on  runners  dashed  by.  It  contained 
a  pair  of  lovers,  who  shouted  and  waved  their  hands. 
The  sun  was  shining  broadly.  The  snow  would  not 
last  long.  The  crudest  sled  of  all  passed  in  the  wake 
of  the  other.  It  was  simply  a  plank  about  twelve 
inches  wide  and  ten  feet  long  to  which  a  gaunt,  limp 
ing  horse  was  hitched.  On  the  plank  stood  a  trium 
phant  lad  balancing  himself  with  the  skill  of  a  bare 
back  rider.  His  face  was  flushed;  he  had  never  been 

283 


Abner    Daniel 

so  full  of  joy  and  ozone.  From  the  other  direction 
came  a  gigantic  concern  looking  like  a  snow-plough 
or  a  metropolitan  street-sweeper.  It  was  a  sliding 
road-wagon  to  which  Frank  Hillhouse  had  hitched  four 
sturdy  mules.  The  wagon  was  full  of  girls.  Frank 
sat  on  the  front  seat  cracking  a  whip  and  smoking. 
A  little  negro  boy  sat  astride  of  the  leading  mule,  dig 
ging  his  rag-clothed  heels  into  the  animal's  side.  Frank 
bowed  as  he  passed,  but  his  face  was  rigid. 

"He  didn't  intend  to  ask  me,"  said  Dolly.  "He 
hardly  speaks  to  me  since — " 

"Since  what?"  Alan  questioned. 

"Since  I  asked  him  not  to  come  to  see  me  so  often. 
I  had  to  do  it.  He  was  making  a  fool  of  himself.  It 
had  to  stop." 

"You  refused  him?" 

"Yes;  but  you  must  go  nowr."  Dolly  was  laughing 
again.  "Mother  will  be  out  here  in  a  minute;  she 
can't  curb  her  curiosity  any  longer.  She'd  make  you 
take  her  riding,  and  I  wouldn't  have  you  do  it  for  the 
world.  Good-bye." 

"Well,  good-bye." 

"Now,  you  must  hope  for  the  best,  Alan." 

'Tm  going  to.     Good-bye." 


XXXIV 

JOLLY  had  the  opportunity  to  warn  her 
father  in  regard  to  his  financial  inter 
ests    sooner   than    she    expected.      The 
very  next  morning,  as  she  sat  reading 
at  a  window  in  the  sitting-room,  she  over 
heard  the  Colonel  speaking  to  her  mother 
about  an  offer  he  had  just  had  for  his  mountain  property. 
"I  believe  it's  a  good  chance  for  me  to  get  rid  of  it/' 
he  was  saying,  as  he  stood  at  the  mantel-piece  dip 
ping  his  pipe  into  his  blue  tobacco-jar. 

"  I  never  did  see  any  sense  in  paying  taxes  on  land 
you  have  never  seen/'  said  Mrs.  Barclay,  at  her  sew 
ing-machine.  "  Surely  you  can  put  the  money  where 
it  will  bring  in  something." 

"Milburn  wants  it  because  there  is  about  a  hundred 
acres  that  could  be  cleared  for  cultivation.  I'm  of  the 
opinion  that  it  won't  make  as  good  soil  as  he  thinks, 
but  I'm  not  going  to  tell  him  that." 

"Would  you  be  getting  as  much  as  it  cost  you?" 
asked  Mrs.  Barclay,  smoothing  down  a  white  hem 
with  her  thumb-nail. 

"About  five  hundred  more,"  her  husband  chuckled. 
"  People  said  when  I  bought  it  that  I  was  as  big  a  fool 
as  old  Bishop,  but  you  see  I've  already  struck  a  pur 
chaser  at  a  profit." 

Then  Dolly  spoke  up  from  behind  her  newspaper: 
"I  wouldn't  sell  it,  papa/'  she  said,  coloring  under  the 
task  before  her. 

285 


Abner   Daniel 

"  Oh,  you  wouldn't?"  sniffed  her  father.   "  And  why  ?" 

"Because  it's  going  to  be  worth  a  good  deal  more 
money,"  she  affirmed,  coloring  deeper  and  yet  looking 
her  parent  fairly  in  the  eyes. 

Mrs.  Barclay  broke  into  a  rippling  titter  as  she  bent 
over  her  work.  "Alan  Bishop  put  that  in  her  head," 
she  said.  "They  think,  the  Bishops  do,  that  they've 
got  a  gold-mine  over  there." 

"You  must  not  sell  it,  papa,"  Dolly  went  on,  ignor 
ing  her  mother's  thrust.  "  I  can't  tell  you  why  I  don't 
want  you  to,  but  you  must  not — you'll  be  sorry  if  you 
do." 

"I  don't  know  how  I'm  to  keep  on  paying  your  bills 
for  flimflam  frippery  if  I  don't  sell  something,"  re 
torted  the  old  man,  almost  and  yet  not  quite  angry. 
Indirectly  he  was  pleased  at  her  valuation  of  his  prop 
erty,  for  he  had  discovered  that  her  judgment  was 
good. 

"And  she  won't  let  Frank  Hillhouse  help,"  put  in 
Mrs.  Barclay,  teasingly.  "Poor  fellow!  I'm  afraid 
he'll  never  get  over  it.  He's  taken  to  running  around 
with  school-girls — that's  always  a  bad  sign." 

"A  girl  ought  to  be  made  to  listen  to  reason,"  fumed 
Barclay,  goaded  on  to  this  attack  by  his  wife,  who 
well  knew  his  sore  spots,  and  liked  to  rasp  them. 

"A  girl  will  listen  to  the  right  sort  of  reason,"  re 
torted  Dolly,  who  was  valiantly  struggling  against 
an  outburst.  "Mamma  knows  how  I  feel." 

"  I  know  that  you  are  bent  on  marrying  a  man  with 
out  a  dollar  to  his  name,"  said  her  father.  "You  want 
to  get  into  that  visionary  gang  that  will  spend  all  I 
leave  you  in  their  wild-cat  investments,  but  I  tell  you 
I  will  cut  you  out  of  my  property  if  you  do.  Now, 
remember  that.  I  mean  it." 

Dolly  crushed  the  newspaper  in  her  lap  and  rose. 
"There  is  no  good  in  quarrelling  over  this  again/' 

286 


Abner    Daniel 

she  said,  coldly.  "Some  day  you  will  understand  the 
injustice  you  are  doing  Alan  Bishop.  I  could  make 
you  see  it  now,  but  I  have  no  right  to  explain."  And 
with  that  she  left  the  room. 

Half  an  hour  later,  from  the  window  of  her  room 
up-stairs,  she  saw  old  Bobby  Milburn  open  the  front 
gate.  Under  his  slouch  hat  and  big  gray  shawl  he 
thumped  up  the  gravelled  walk  and  began  to  scrape 
his  feet  on  the  steps.  There  was  a  door-bell,  with  a 
handle  like  that  of  a  coffee-mill,  to  be  turned  round, 
but  old  Bobby,  like  many  of  his  kind,  either  did  not 
know  of  its  existence,  or,  knowing,  dreaded  the  use  of 
innovations  that  sometimes  made  even  stoics  like  him 
self  feel  ridiculous.  His  method  of  announcing  him 
self  was  by  far  more  sensible,  as  it  did  not  even  re 
quire  the  removal  of  his  hands  from  his  pockets ;  and, 
at  the  same  time,  helped  divest  his  boots  of  mud.  He 
stamped  on  the  floor  of  the  veranda  loudly  and  paused 
to  listen  for  the  approach  of  some  one  to  admit  him. 
Then,  as  no  one  appeared,  he  clattered  along  the  ve 
randa  to  the  window  of  the  sitting-room  and  peered  in. 
Colonel  Barclay  saw  him  and  opened  the  door,  invit 
ing  the  old  fellow  into  the  sitting-room.  Old  Bobby 
laid  his  hat  on  the  floor  beside  his  chair  as  he  sat  down, 
but  he  did  not  unpin  his  shawl. 

"Well,  I've  come  round  to  know  what's  yore  lowest 
notch,  Colonel,"  he  said,  gruffly,  as  he  brushed  his  long, 
stringy  hair  back  from  his  ears  and  side  whiskers. 
"  You  see,  it's  jest  this  way.  I  kin  git  a  patch  o'  land 
from  Lank  Buford  that  will  do  me,  in  a  pinch,  but  I 
like  yore'n  a  leetle  grain  better,  beca'se  it's  nigher  my 
line  by  a  quarter  or  so;  but,  as  I  say,  I  kin  make  out 
with  Buford 's  piece;  an'  ef  we  cayn't  agree,  I'll  have  to 
ride  over  whar  he  is  workin'  in  Springtown." 

At  this  juncture  Dolly  came  into  the  room.  She 
shook  hands  with  the  visitor,  who  remained  seated  and 

287 


Abner    Daniel 

mumbled  out  some  sort  of  gruff  greeting,  and  went 
to  her  chair  near  the  window,  taking  up  her  paper 
again.  Her  eyes,  however,  were  on  her  father's  face. 

"I  hardly  know  what  to  say,"  answered  Barclay, 
deliberately.  "Your  price  the  other  day  didn't  strike 
me  just  right,  and  so  I  really  haven't  been  thinking 
about  it." 

There  was  concession  enough,  Dolly  thought,  in 
Milburn's  eye,  if  not  in  his  voice,  when  he  spoke. 
"Well,"  he  said,  carelessly,  "bein'  as  me'n  you  are 
old  friends,  an'  thar  always  was  a  sort  o'  neighborly 
feelin'  betwixt  us,  I'll  agree,  if  we  trade,  to  hire  a  law 
yer  an'  a  scribe  to  draw  up  the  papers  an'  have  'em 
duly  recorded.  You  know  that's  always  done  by  the 
party  sellin'." 

"Oh,  that's  a  little  thing,"  said  the  Colonel;  but  his 
watchful  daughter  saw  that  the  mere  smallness  of 
Milburn's  raise  in  his  offer  had  had  a  depressing  ef 
fect  on  her  father's  rather  doubtful  valuation  of  the 
property  in  question.  The  truth  was  that  Wilson  had 
employed  the  shrewdest  trader  in  all  that  part  of  the 
country,  and  one  who  worked  all  the  more  effectively 
for  his  plainness  of  dress  and  rough  manner.  "  That's 
a  little  thing,"  went  on  the  Colonel,  "but  here's  what 
I'll  do-" 

"Father,"  broke  in  Dolly,  "don't  make  a  proposition 
to  Mr.  Milburn.  Please  don't." 

Milburn  turned  to  her,  his  big  brows  contracting  in 
surprise,  but  he  controlled  himself.  "Heigho!"  he 
laughed,  "so  you've  turned  trader,  too,  Miss  Dolly? 
Now,  I  jest  wish  my  gals  had  that  much  enterprise; 
they  git  beat  ef  they  buy  a  spool  o'  thread." 

The  Colonel  frowned  and  Mrs.  Barclay  turned  to 
Dolly  with  a  real  tone  of  reproof.  "Don't  interfere 
in  your  father's  business,"  she  said.  "He  can  attend 
to  it." 

288 


Abner   Daniel 

The  Colonel  was  not  above  making  capital  of  the  in 
terruption,  and  he  smiled  down  on  the  snaggy  visitor. 

"She's  been  deviling  the  life  out  of  me  not  to  part 
with  that  land.  They  say  women  have  the  intuition 
to  look  ahead  better  than  men.  I  don't  know  but  I 
ought  to  listen  to  her,  but  she  ain't  running  me,  and 
as  I  was  about  to  say — " 

"Wait  just  one  minute,  papa!"  insisted  Dolly,  with 
a  grim  look  of  determination  on  her  face.  "  Just  let  me 
speak  to  you  a  moment  in  the  parlor,  and  then  you  can 
come  back  to  Mr.  Milburn." 

The  face  of  the  Colonel  darkened  under  impatience, 
but  he  was  afraid  failure  to  grant  his  daughter's  re 
quest  would  look  like  over-anxiety  to  close  with  Mil- 
burn,  and  so  he  followed  her  into  the  parlor  across  the 
hallway. 

"Now,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  you?"  he 
demanded,  sternly.  "I  have  never  seen  you  conduct 
yourself  like  this  before." 

She  faced  him,  touching  his  arms  with  her  two  hands. 

"Father,  don't  be  angry  with  me,"  she  said,  "but 
when  you  know  what  I  do,  you  will  be  glad  I  stopped 
you  just  now.  Mr.  Milburn  is  not  buying  that  land 
for  his  own  use." 

"He  isn't?"  exclaimed  the  Colonel. 

"No;  he's  secretly  employed  by  a  concern  worth 
over  two  million  dollars — the  Southern  Land  and 
Timber  Company  of  Atlanta." 

"What?"  the  word  came  out  as  suddenly  as  if  some 
one  had  struck  him  on  the  breast. 

"No,"  answered  the  girl,  now  pale  and  agitated. 
"To  save  Mr.  Bishop  from  loss,  Alan  and  Rayburn 
Miller  have  worked  up  a  scheme  to  build  a  railroad 
from  Darley  to  the  Bishop  property.  All  arrange 
ments  have  been  made.  There  can  be  no  hitch  in  it 
unless  the  citizens  refuse  to  grant  a  right  of  way.  In 
'9  289  . 


Abner   Daniel 

a  week  from  now  a  meeting  is  to  be  advertised.  Of 
course,  it  is  not  a  certainty,  but  you  can  see  that  the 
chance  is  good,  and  you  ought  not  to  sacrifice  your 
land." 

"Good  Heavens!"  ejaculated  Barclay,  his  eyes  dis 
tended,  "is  this  a  fact?" 

"I  am  telling  you  what  I  have  really  no  right  to 
reveal,"  said  Dolly,  "but  I  promised  Alan  not  to  let 
you  sell  if  I  could  help  it." 

The  Colonel  was  staggered  by  the  revelation;  his 
face  was  working  under  strong  excitement.  "  I  thought 
that  old  rascal" — he  meant  Milburn — "was  power 
fully  anxious  to  trade.  Huh!  Looky' here,  daughter, 
this  news  is  almost  too  good  to  be  true.  Why,  another 
railroad  would  make  my  town-lots  bound  up  like  fury, 
and  as  for  this  mountain-land — whew!  It  may  be  as 
you  say.  Ray  Miller  certainly  is  a  wheel-horse." 

"It  was  not  his  idea,"  said  Dolly,  loyally.  "In  fact, 
he  tried  his  best  to  discourage  Alan  at  first — till  he  saw 
what  could  be  done.  Since  then  he's  been  secretly 
working  at  it  night  and  day." 

"Whew!"  whistled  the  Colonel.  "I  don't  care  a 
cent  whose  idea  it  is;  if  it  goes  through  it's  a  good  one, 
and,  now  that  I  think  of  it,  the  necessary  capital  is  all 
that  is  needed  to  make  a  big  spec'  over  there." 

"So  you  won't  sell  to  Mr.  Milburn,  then?"  asked 
Dolly,  humbly  grateful  for  her  father's  change  of  mood. 

"Sell  to  that  old  dough-faced  scamp?"  snorted  Bar 
clay.  "Well,  he'll  think  I  won't  in  a  minute!  Do 
you  reckon  I  don't  want  to  have  some  sort  o'  finger  in 
the  pie?  Whether  the  road's  built  or  not,  I  want  my 
chance. " 

"But  remember  I  am  giving  away  state  secrets/' 
said  Dolly.  "  He  must  not  know  that  you  have  heard 
about  the  road." 

"I'll  not  give  that  away,"  the  old  man  promised, 
290 


Abner    Daniel 

with  a  smile,  and  he  turned  to  the  door  as  if  eager  to 
face  Milburn.  "  Huh !  That  old  scamp  coming  here  to 
do  me  one!  The  idea!" 

The  two  men,  as  they  faced  each  other  a  moment 
later,  presented  an  interesting  study  of  human  forces 
held  well  in  check.  The  Colonel  leaned  on  the  man 
tel-piece  and  looked  down  at  the  toe  of  his  boot,  with 
which  he  pushed  a  chunk  of  wood  beneath  the  logs. 

"You  never  can  tell  about  a  woman's  whims,  Mil- 
burn/'  he  said.  "  Dolly  's  set  her  heart  on  holding  onto 
that  land,  and  I  reckon  I'm  too  easily  wriggled  about 
by  my  women  folks.  I  reckon  we'd  better  call  it  off." 

"Oh,  all  right  — all  right!"  said  Milburn,  with  a 
start  and  a  sharp  contraction  of  his  brows.  "I'm 
that  away  some  myse'f.  My  gals  git  me  into  devilish 
scrapes  sometimes,  an'  I'm  always  sayin'  they  got  to 
stop  it.  A  man  loses  too  much  by  lettin'  'em  dabble 
in  his  business.  But  I  was  jest  goin'  to  say  that  I 
mought  raise  my  bid  fifty  cents  on  the  acre  ruther  than 
trapse  away  over  to  Springtown  to  see  Buford." 

There  was  silence  through  which  several  kinds  of 
thoughts  percolated.  The  raise  really  amounted  to  so 
much  that  it  materially  increased  Barclay's  growing 
conviction  that  the  railroad  was  next  to  a  certainty. 
"Huh!"  he  grunted,  his  eyes  ablaze  with  the  amuse 
ment  of  a  winner.  "I  wouldn't  listen  to  less  than  a 
dollar  more  on  the  acre."  And  as  the  gaze  of  Milburn 
went  down  reflectively  the  Colonel  winked  slyly,  even 
triumphantly,  at  his  smiling  daughter  and  said :  "  Dol 
ly  thinks  it  will  make  good  land  for  a  peach-orchard. 
Lots  of  money  is  being  made  that  way. " 

"Bosh!"  grunted  Milburn.  "It  don't  lie  right  fer 
peaches.  You  kin  git  jest  as  much  property  nigh  the 
railroad  as  you  want  fer  peaches.  You  are  a  hard 
man  to  trade  with,  but  I  reckon  I'll  have  to  take  yore 
offer  of—" 

291 


Abner   Daniel 

"Hold  on,  hold  on!"  laughed  the  Colonel,  his  hand 
upraised.  "I  didn't  say  I'd  take  that  price.  I  just 
said  I  wouldn't  listen  to  less  than  a  dollar  raise.  I've 
listened  to  many  a  thing  I  didn't  jump  at,  like  a  frog 
in  muddy  water,  not  knowing  what  he's  going  to  butt 
against." 

Under  his  big  shawl  Milburn  rose  like  a  tent  blown 
upward  by  wind.  He  was  getting  angry  as  he  saw 
his  commission  money  taking  wing  and  flitting  out  of 
sight.  He  had  evidently  counted  on  making  an  easy 
victim  of  Barclay.  For  a  moment  he  stood  twisting 
his  heavy,  home-knit  gloves  in  his  horny  hands. 

"Now  if  it's  a  fair  question,"  he  said,  as  the  last 
resort  of  a  man  ready  and  willing  to  trade  at  any  rea 
sonable  cost,  "  what  will  you  take,  cash  down,  on  your 
honor  between  us — me  to  accept  or  decline  ?" 

The  Colonel's  pleasure  was  of  the  bubbling,  over 
flowing  kind.  Every  move  made  by  Milburn  was 
adding  fuel  to  his  hopes  of  the  proposed  railroad,  and 
to  his  determination  to  be  nobody's  victim. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  "that  land  has  been  rising  at 
such  a  rate  since  you  came  in  that  I'm  actually  afraid 
to  let  it  go.  By  dinner-time  it  may  make  me  rich. 
Dolly,  I  believe,  on  my  word,  Milburn  has  discovered 
gold  over  there.  Haven't  you,  Milburn?  Now,  honor 
bright." 

"  It  will  be  a  long  time  before  you  find  gold  or  any 
thing  else  on  that  land,"  Milburn  retorted,  as  he  reached 
for  his  hat  and  heavily  strode  from  the  room. 

"Well!  I  do  declare,"  and  Mrs.  Barclay  turned  to 
Dolly  and  her  father.  "  What  on  earth  does  this  mean?" 

The  Colonel  laughed  out,  then  slapped  his  hand  over 
his  mouth,  as  he  peered  from  the  window  to  see  if  Mil- 
burn  was  out  of  hearing.  "It's  just  this  way — " 

" Mind,  father !"  cautioned  Dolly.  "Do  you  want  it 
to  be  all  over  town  by  dinner-time?" 

292 


Abner   Daniel 

"Dolly!"  cried  Mrs.  Barclay,  "the  idea  of  such  a 
thing!"' 

Dolly  smiled  and  patted  her  mother  on  the  cheek. 

"Don't  tell  her,  papa/'  she  said,  with  decision. 

"  The  truth  is,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  Dolly  really  wants 
to  plant  peaches.  I  don't  think  there's  much  in  it, 
but  she  will  have  her  way." 

"Well,  I  call  that  mean  of  you,"  retorted  Mrs.  Bar 
clay,  dark  with  vexation.  "Well,  miss,  I'll  bet  you 
didn't  tell  your  father  who  you  went  sleigh  -  riding 
with." 

The  old  man  frowned  suddenly.  "Not  with  Alan 
Bishop,"  he  said,  "after  my  positive  orders?" 

"  He  came  to  tell  me  about  the — the  " — Dolly  glanced 
at  her  mother  suddenly — "about  the  peaches, papa. " 

"Well" — the  Colonel  was  waxing  angry — "I  won't 
have  it — that's  all.  I  won't  have  you — " 

"Wait,  papa,"  entreated  the  girl,  sweetly,  "wait  till 
we  see  about  the — peaches!"  And,  with  a  little  teas 
ing  laugh,  she  left  the  room. 


XXXV 

[HE  mass  -  meeting  at  Springtown  was 
a  most  important  event.  It  was  held 
in  the  court-house  in  the  centre  of  the 
few  straggling  houses  which  made  up 
the  hamlet.  The  entire  Bishop  fam 
ily,  including  the  servants,  attended. 
Pole  Baker  brought  his  wife  and  all  the  children  in  a 
new  spring  -  wagon.  Darley  society  was  represented, 
as  the  Springtown  Gazette  afterwards  put  it,  by  the 
fairest  of  the  fair,  Miss  Dolly  Barclay,  accompanied 
by  her  mother  and  father. 

The  court-house  yard  was  alive  with  groups  of  men 
eagerly  talking  over  the  situation.  Every  individual 
whose  land  was  to  be  touched  by  the  proposed  road 
was  on  hand  to  protect  his  rights.  Pole  Baker  was 
ubiquitous,  trying  to  ascertain  the  drift  of  matters.  He 
was,  however,  rather  unsuccessful.  He  discovered 
that  many  of  the  groups  ceased  to  talk  when  he  en 
tered  them.  "Some'n's  up,"  he  told  Alan  and  Miller 
in  the  big,  bare-looking  court-room.  "  I  don't  know 
what  it  is,  but  I  smell  a  rat,  an'  it  ain't  no  little  one, 
nuther." 

"Opposition,"  said  Miller,  gloomily.  "I  saw  that 
as  soon  as  I  came.  If  they  really  were  in  favor  of  the 
road  they'd  be  here  talking  it  over  with  us." 

"I'm  afraid  that's  it,"  said  Alan.  "Joe  Bartell  is 
the  most  interested,  and  he  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  ring 
leader.  I  don't  like  the  way  he  looks.  I  saw  him 

294 


Abner   Daniel 

sneer  at  Wilson  when  he  drove  up  just  now.  I  wish 
Wilson  hadn't  put  on  so  much  style — kid  gloves,  plug 
hat,  and  a  negro  driver." 

"No,  that  won't  go  down  with  this  crowd,"  agreed 
Miller.  "It  might  in  the  slums  of  Boston,  but  not 
with  these  lords  of  the  mountains.  As  for  Bar  tell,  I 
think  I  know  what  ails  him.  He's  going  to  run  for 
the  legislature  and  thinks  he  can  make  votes  by  op 
posing  us — convincing  his  constituency  that  we  repre 
sent  moneyed  oppression.  Well,  he  may  down  us,  but 
it's  tough  on  human  progress." 

Alan  caught  Dolly's  eye  and  bowed.  She  was 
seated  near  her  father  and  mother,  well  towards  the 
judge's  stand.  She  seemed  to  have  been  observing 
the  faces  of  the  two  friends,  and  to  be  affected  by  their 
serious  expressions.  Adele  sat  at  the  long  wood  stove, 
several  yards  from  her  parents,  who  appeared  quite  as 
if  they  were  in  church  waiting  for  service  to  begin. 
Abner  Daniel  leaned  in  the  doorway  opening  into  one 
of  the  jury-rooms.  Wilson  had  given  him  a  fine  cigar, 
which  he  seemed  to  be  enjoying  hugely. 

At  the  hour  appointed  for  the  meeting  to  open,  a 
young  man  who  held  the  office  of  bailiff  in  the  county, 
and  seemed  proud  of  his  stentorian  voice,  opened  one 
of  the  windows  and  shouted: 

"Come  in  to  court!  Come  in  to  court!"  and  the 
motley  loiterers  below  began  to  clatter  up  the  broad 
stairs  and  fall  into  the  seats.  Joe  Bartell,  a  short, 
thick-set  man  in  the  neighborhood  of  fifty,  with  a  florid 
face  and  a  shock  of  reddish  hair,  led  about  twenty  men 
up  the  aisle  to  the  jury-benches  at  the  right  of  the  stand. 
They  were  the  land-owners  whose  consent  to  grant  the 
right  of  way  was  asked.  Stern  opposition  was  clearly 
written  on  the  leader's  brow  and  more  or  less  distinctly 
reflected  on  the  varying  faces  of  his  followers. 

"  Ef  we  needed  it,  it  ud  be  a  different  matter,"  Miller 

295 


Abner   Daniel 

overheard  him  say  in  a  sudden  lull,  as  the  big  room 
settled  down  into  sudden  quiet,  "  but  we  kin  do  with 
out  it.  We've  got  along  so  fur  an'  we  kin  furder.  All 
of  us  has  got  good  teams." 

Wilson,  in  his  crisp,  brusque  way,  made  the  opening 
speech.  He  told  his  hearers  just  what  his  company 
proposed  to  do  and  in  much  the  same  cold-blooded 
way  as  he  would  have  dictated  a  letter  to  his  stenog 
rapher,  correctly  punctuating  the  text  by  pauses,  and 
yet,  in  his  own  way,  endeavoring  to  be  eloquent.  He 
and  his  capital  were  going  to  dispel  darkness  where  it 
had  reigned  since  the  dawn  of  civilization;  people  liv 
ing  there  now  would  not  recognize  the  spot  ten  years 
from  the  day  the  first  whistle  of  a  locomotive  shrilled 
through  those  rocky  gorges  and  rebounded  from  those 
lofty  peaks — silent  fingers  pointing  to  God  and  speak 
ing  of  a  past  dead  and  gone.  All  that  was  needed,  he 
finished,  was  the  consent  of  the  property-owners  ap 
pealed  to;  who,  he  felt  confident,  would  not  stand  in 
their  own  light.  They  looked  like  intelligent  men, 
and  he  believed  they  did  not  deceive  appearances. 

He  had  hardly  taken  his  seat  when  Joe  Bartell  stood 
up.  Alan  and  Miller  exchanged  ominous  glances. 
They  had  at  once  recognized  the  inappropriateness 
of  Wilson's  speech,  and  did  not  like  the  white,  twitch 
ing  sneer  on  Bartell's  smooth-shaven  face.  It  was  as 
if  Bartell  had  been  for  a  long  time  seeking  just  such  an 
opportunity  to  make  himself  felt  in  the  community, 
and  there  was  no  doubt  that  Wilson's  almost  dicta 
torial  speech  had  made  a  fine  opening  for  him. 

"Fellow-citizens,  an'  ladies  an'  gentlemen,"  he  be 
gan,  "  we  are  glad  to  welcome  amongst  us  a  sort  of  a 
second  savior  in  our  Sodom  an'  Gomorry  of  cracker- 
dom.  What  the  gentleman  with  the  plug  hat  an'  spike- 
toe  shoes  ain't  a-goin'  to  do  fer  us  the  Lord  couldn't. 
He  looks  nice  an'  talks  nice,  an',  to  use  his  words,  I 

296 


Abner   Daniel 

don't  believe  he  deceives  appearances.  I'll  bet  one 
thing,  an'  that  is  'at  he  won't  deceive  us.  Accordin' 
to  him  we  need  'im  every  hour,  as  the  Sunday-school 
song  puts  it.  Yes,  he's  a-goin'  to  he'p  us  powerful 
an'  right  off.  An',  fellow -citizens,  I'm  heer  to  pro 
pose  a  vote  o'  thanks.  He's  from  away  up  in  Boston, 
whar,  they  tell  me,  a  nigger  sets  an'  eats  at  the  same 
table  with  the  whites.  When  his  sort  come  this  away 
durin'  the  war,  with  all  the'r  up-to-date  impliments  of 
slaughter,  they  laid  waste  to  ever'thing  they  struck, 
shot  us  like  rabbits  in  holes,  an'  then  went  back  an' 
said  they'd  had  a  good  hunt.  But  they've  been  livin' 
high  up  thar  sence  the  war  an'  the'r  timber  is  a-playin' 
out,  an'  they  want  some  more  now,  an'  they  want  it  bad. 
So  they  send  the'r  representatives  out  to  find  it  an'  lay 
hold  of  it.  How  does  he  happen  to  come  heer?  As 
well  as  I  kin  make  out,  old  Alf  Bishop,  a  good  man  an' 
a  Southern  soldier — a  man  that  I  hain't  got  nothin' 
agin,  except  maybe  he  holds  his  head  too  high,  made 
up  his  mind  awhile  back  that  lumber  would  be  in  de 
mand  some  day,  an'  he  set  to  work  buyin'  all  the  tim 
ber-land  he  could  lay  his  hands  on.  Then,  when  he 
had  more'n  he  could  tote,  an'  was  about  to  go  under, 
he  give  this  gentleman  a'  option  on  it.  Well,  so  fur  so 
good ;  but,  gentlemen,  what  have  we  got  to  do  with  this 
trade  ?  Nothin'  as  I  kin  see.  But  we  are  expected  to  yell 
an'  holler,  an'  deed  'em  a  free  right  of  way  through  our 
property  so  they  kin  ship  the  timber  straight  through  to 
the  North  an'  turn  it  into  cold  Yankee  coin.  We  don't 
count  in  this  shuffle,  gentlemen.  We  git  our  pay  fer 
our  land  in  bein'  glad  an'  heerin'  car-bells  an'  steam- 
whistles  in  the  middle  o'  the  night  when  we  want  to 
sleep.  The  engynes  will  kill  our  hogs,  cattle,  an' 
hosses,  an'  now  an'  then  break  the  neck  o'  some  chap 
that  wasn't  hit  in  the  war,  but  we  mustn't  forget  to  be 
glad  an'  bend  the  knee  o'  gratitude.  Of  course,  we  all 

297 


Abner   Daniel 

know  the  law  kin  compel  us  to  give  the  right  of  way, 
but  it  provides  fer  just  and  sufficient  payment  fer  the 
property  used;  an',  gentlemen,  I'm  agin  donations. 
I'm  agin  'em  tooth  an'  toe-nail." 

There  was  thunderous  and  ominous  applause  when 
Bartell  sat  down.  Wilson  sat  flushed  and  embarrassed, 
twirling  his  gloves  in  his  hands.  He  had  expected  any 
thing  but  this  personal  fusillade.  He  stared  at  Miller  in 
surprise  over  that  gentleman's  easy,  half-amused  smile 
as  he  stood  up. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  began,  "and  ladies,"  he  added, 
with  a  bow  to  the  right  and  left.  "As  many  of  you 
know,  I  pretend  to  practise  law  a  little,  and  I  want  to 
say  now  that  I'm  glad  Mr.  Bartell  ain't  in  the  profession. 
A  lawyer  with  his  keen  wit  and  eloquence  could  con 
vict  an  innocent  mother  before  a  jury  of  her  own  chil 
dren.  [Laughter.]  And  that's  the  point,  gentlemen; 
we  are  innocent  of  the  charges  against  us.  I  am  speak 
ing  now  of  my  clients,  the  Bishops.  They  are  deeply 
interested  in  the  development  of  this  section.  The 
elder  Bishop  does  hold  his  head  high,  and  in  this 
case  he  held  it  high  enough  to  smell  coming  prosper 
ity  in  the  air.  He  believed  it  would  come,  and  that 
is  why  he  bought  timber-lands  extensively.  As  for 
the  accused  gentleman  from  the  Hub  of  the  Uni 
verse,  I  must  say  that  I  have  known  of  him  for  several 
years  and  have  never  heard  a  word  against  his  char 
acter.  He  is  not  a  farmer,  but  a  business  man,  and  it 
would  be  unfair  to  judge  him  by  any  other  standard. 
He  is  not  only  a  business  man,  but  a  big  one.  He  han 
dles  big  things.  This  railroad  is  going  to  be  a  big 
thing  for  you  and  your  children.  Yes,  Wilson  is  all 
right.  He  didn't  fight  in  the  late  unpleasantness. 
He  tells  the  women  he  was  too  young;  but  I  believe 
he  hadn't  the  heart  to  fight  a  cause  as  just  as  ours. 
His  only  offence  is  in  the  matter  of  wearing  sharp- 

298 


Abner   Daniel 

toed  shoes.  There  is  no  law  against  'em  in  Atlanta, 
and  he's  simply  gotten  careless.  He  is  ignorant  of 
our  ideas  of  proper  dress,  as  befitting  a  meek  and  lowly 
spirit,  which,  in  spite  of  appearances,  I  happen  to  know 
Wilson  possesses.  However,  I  have  heard  him  say 
that  these  mountains  produce  the  best  corn  liquor 
that  ever  went  down  grade  in  his  system.  He's  right. 
It's  good.  Pole  Baker  says  it's  good,  and  he  ought 
to  know.  [Laughter,  in  which  Pole  joined  good-nat 
uredly.]  That  reminds  me  of  a  story,"  Miller  went  on. 
"  They  tell  this  of  Baker.  They  say  that  a  lot  of  fel 
lows  were  talking  of  the  different  ways  they  would  pre 
fer  to  meet  death  if  it  had  to  come.  One  said  drowning, 
another  shooting,  another  poisoning,  and  so  on;  but 
Pole  reserved  his  opinion  to  the  last.  When  the  crowd 
urged  him  to  say  what  manner  of  death  he  would  select, 
if  he  had  to  die  and  had  his  choice,  he  said :  '  Well,  boys, 
ef  I  had  to  go,  I'd  like  to  be  melted  up  into  puore  corn 
whiskey  an'  poured  through  my  throat  tell  thar  wasn't 
a  drap  left  of  me. '  [Laughter  and  prolonged  applause. ] 
And  Wilson  said  further,  gentlemen  and  ladies,  that  he 
believed  the  men  and  women  of  this  secluded  section 
were,  in  their  own  way,  living  nearer  to  God  than  the 
inhabitants  of  the  crowded  cities.  Wilson  is  not  bad, 
even  if  he  has  a  hang-dog  look.  A  speech  like  Bartell's 
just  now  would  give  a  hang-dog  look  to  a  paling-fence. 
Wilson  is  here  to  build  a  railroad  for  your  good  and 
prosperity,  and  he  can't  build  one  where  there  is  noth 
ing  to  haul  out.  If  he  buys  up  timber  for  his  company, 
it  is  the  only  way  to  get  them  to  back  him  in  the  enter 
prise.  Now,  gentlemen  of  the  opposition,  if  there  are 
any  here  to-day,  don't  let  the  thought  of  Wilson's  possi 
ble  profit  rob  you  of  this  golden  opportunity.  I  live  at 
Darley,  but,  as  many  of  you  know,  this  is  my  father's 
native  county,  and  I  want  to  see  it  bloom  in  progress 
and  blossom  like  the  rose  of  prosperity.  I  want  to  see 

299 


Abner  Daniel 

the  vast  mineral  wealth  buried  in  these  mountains 
dug  out  for  the  benefit  of  mankind  wherever  God's 
sunlight  falls." 

Miller  sat  down  amid  much  applause,  a  faint  part  of 
which  came  even  from  the  ranks  of  Bartell's  faction. 
After  this  a  pause  ensued  in  which  no  one  seemed 
willing  to  speak.  Colonel  Barclay  rose  and  came  to 
Miller. 

"That  was  a  good  talk/'  he  whispered.  "You  un 
derstand  how  to  touch  'em  up.  You  set  them  to  laugh- 
in'  ;  that's  the  thing.  I  wonder  if  it  would  do  any  good 
for  me  to  try  my  hand." 

"Do  they  know  you  have  any  timber-land  over 
here?"  asked  Miller. 

"Oh  yes,  I  guess  they  do,"  replied  the  Colonel. 

"Then  I  don't  believe  I'd  chip  in,"  advised  Miller. 
"Bartell  would  throw  it  up  to  you." 

"I  reckon  you  are  right,"  said  Barclay,  "but  for 
the  Lord's  sake  do  something.  It  never  will  do  to  let 
this  thing  fall  through." 

"  I've  done  all  I  can,"  said  Miller,  dejectedly.  "  Bar 
tell's  got  the  whole  gang  hoodooed — the  blasted  block 
head!  Wouldn't  he  make  a  fine  representative  in  the 
legislature?" 

The  Colonel  went  back  to  his  seat,  and  Wilson  came 
to  Miller,  just  as  Alan  approached. 

"It's  going  to  fall  flatter  than  a  pancake,"  said 
Wilson.  "My  company  simply  cannot  afford  to  buy 
the  right  of  way.  Can't  you  choke  that  illiterate  fel 
low  over  there  or — or  buy  him  off?" 

"  He  ain't  that  sort,"  said  Miller,  disconsolately. 

Alan  glanced  at  his  father  and  mother.  On  their 
wrinkled  faces  lay  ample  evidences  of  dejection.  The 
old  man  seemed  scarcely  to  breathe.  Up  to  Bartell's 
speech  he  had  seemed  buoyantly  hopeful,  but  his  hori 
zon  had  changed;  he  looked  as  if  he  were  wondering 

300 


Abner   Daniel 

why  he  had  treated  himself  to  such  a  bright  view  of  a 
thing  which  had  no  foundation  at  all. 

At  this  juncture  Abner  Daniel  rose  from  his  seat  near 
the  stove  and  slowly  walked  forward  till  he  stood  fac 
ing  the  audience.  Immediately  quiet  reigned,  for  he 
was  a  man  who  was  invariably  listened  to. 

"Gentlemen  an'  ladies/'  he  began,  clearing  his 
throat  and  wiping  his  mouth  with  his  long  hand.  "  This 
ain't  no  put-in  o'  mine,  gracious  knows!  I  hain't  got 
nothin',  an'  I  don't  expect  to  lose  or  gain  by  what  is 
done  in  this  matter,  but  I  want  to  do  what  I  kin  fer 
what  I  think  is  right  an'  proper.  Fer  my  part,  I  don't 
think  we  kin  do  without  a  railroad  much  longer.  Folks 
is  a-pokin'  fun  at  us,  I  tell  you.  It's  God's  truth. 
T'other  day  I  was  over  at  Barley  a-walkin'  along  the 
railroad  nigh  the  turnin '-table,  whar  they  flirt  engynes 
round  like  children  on  a  flyin '-jinny,  when  all  at  once 
a  big  strappin'  feller  with  a  red  flag  in  his  hand  run 
up  an'  knocked  me  off'n  the  track  kerwhallop  in  a 
ditch.  It  was  just  in  time  to  keep  me  from  bein'  run 
over  by  a  switch-engyne.  He  was  as  mad  as  Tucker. 
'Looky'  heer,'  ses  he,  'did  you  think  that  thing  was 
playin'  tag  with  you  an'  ud  tap  you  on  the  shoulder 
an'  run  an'  hide  behind  a  tree?  Say,  ain't  you  from 
Short  Pine  Destrict,  this  side  o'  the  mountains?'  I 
told  'im  he'd  guessed  right,  an'  he  said,  'I  'lowed  so, 
fer  thar  ain't  no  other  spot  on  the  whirlin'  globe  that 
produces  folks  as  green  as  gourds.'  Well,  gentlemen, 
that  floored  me ;  it  was  bad  enough  to  be  jerked  about 
like  a  rag  doll,  but  it  was  tough  to  heer  my  section 
jeered  at.  'What  makes  you  say  that?'  I  axed  'im,  as 
I  stood  thar  tryin'  to  git  a  passle  o'  wet  glass  out  o'  my 
hip-pocket  without  cuttin'  my  fingers.  [Laughter,  led 
by  Pole  Baker,  who  sensed  the  meaning  of  the  refer 
ence.]  'Beca'se/  ses  he,  'you  moss-backs  over  thar 
don't  know  the  war's  over;  a  nigger  from  over  thar 

301 


Abner   Daniel 

come  in  town  t'other  day  an'  heerd  fer  the  fust  time 
that  he  was  free.  Two  men  over  thar  swapped  wives 
without  knowin'  thar  was  a  law  agin  it.  Half  o'  you- 
uns  never  laid  eyes  on  a  railroad,  an'  wouldn't  have 
one  as  a  free  gift.'  I  turned  off  an'  left  'im  an'  went 
up  on  the  main  street.  Up  thar  a  barber  ketched  me 
by  the  arm  an'  said,  ses  he :  '  Come  in  an'  le'  me  cut 
that  hair.  You  are  from  Short  Pine,  ain't  you?'  I  axed 
him  why  he  thought  so,  an'  he  said,  ses  he, '  beca'se  you 
got  a  Short  Pine  hair-cut. '  '  What's  that?'  ses  I.  An' 
he  laughed  at  a  feller  cocked  up  in  a  cheer  an'  said:  '  It's 
a  cut  that  is  made  by  the  women  out  yore  way.  They 
jest  turn  a  saucer  upside  down  on  the  men's  heads  an' 
trim  around  the  edges.  I  could  tell  one  a  mile;  they 
make  a  man  look  like  a  bob-tailed  mule.'  [Laughter, 
loud  and  prolonged.  ]  Yes,  as  I  said,  they  are  a-pokin' 
all  manner  o'  fun  at  us,  an'  it's  chiefly  beca'se  we  hain't 
got  no  railroad.  The  maddest  1  ever  got  on  this  line 
was  down  at  Filmore's  store  one  day.  A  little,  slick  chap 
come  along  scllin'  maps  of  the  United  States  of  America. 
They  was  purty  things  on  black  sticks,  an'  I  wanted 
one  fer  the  wall  o'  my  room.  I  was  about  to  buy  one, 
but  I  thought  I'd  fust  make  shore  that  our  county  was 
on  it,  so  I  axed  the  peddler  to  p'int  it  out  to  me.  Well, 
after  some  s'arch,  he  put  his  knife-blade  on  what  he 
called  this  county,  but  lo  an'  behold !  it  was  mighty  nigh 
kivered  with  round  dots  about  the  size  of  fly -specks. 
'What's  the  matter  with  it?'  I  axed  'im.  'Oh,  you 
mean  them  dots/  ses  he,  an'  he  turned  to  a  lot  o'  ref 
erence  words  in  the  corner  of  the  map.  '  Them,'  ses  he, 
'them's  put  thar  to  indicate  the  amount  o'  ignorance 
in  a  locality.  You'll  find  'em  in  all  places  away  from 
the  railroads;  a  body  kin  say  what  they  please  agin 
railroads,  but  they  fetch  schools,  an'  books,  an'  en 
lightenment.  You've  got  a  good  many  specks'  ses 
he,  kinder  comfortin'  like,  'but  some  o'  these  days  a 

302 


Abner   Daniel 

railroad  will  shoot  out  this  away,  an'  them  brainy  men 
amongst  you  will  git  the  chance  God  intends  to  give 
'em.'  Gentlemen,  I  didn't  buy  no  map.  I  wouldn't  'a' 
had  the  thing  on  my  wall  with  them  specks  a-starin' 
me  in  the  face.  It  wouldn't  'a'  done  any  good  to  scrape 
'em  off,  fer  the'r  traces  would  'a'  been  left.  No,  friends, 
citizens,  an'  well-wishers,  thar  ain't  but  one  scraper  that 
will  ever  rake  our  specks  off,  an'  that's  the  cow-catch 
er  of  a  steam-engyne.  I  say  let  'er  come.  Some  ob 
jection  has  been  raised  on  the  score  o'  killin'  cattle. 
That  reminds  me  of  a  story  they  tell  on  old  Burt  Pres 
ton,  who  has  a  farm  on  the  main  line  beyant  Darley. 
He  was  always  a-gittin'  his  stock  killed  so  fast,  an' 
a-puttin'  in  heavy  claims  fer  damages,  until  folks  be 
gun  to  say  he  made  his  livin'  by  buyin'  scrub  cattle 
an'  sellin'  mashed  beef  to  the  corporation.  One  day 
the  road  sent  out  a  detective  to  watch  'im,  an'  he  seed 
Burt  drive  a  spindlin'  yeerlin'  out  o'  the  thicket  on  the 
track  jest  in  time  to  get  it  knocked  off  by  a  through 
freight.  The  detective  went  back  an'  reported,  an' 
they  waited  to  see  what  Preston  ud  do.  By  the  next 
mail  they  got  a  claim  in  which  Preston  said  the  yeerlin' 
weighed  eight  hundred  pound  an'  was  a  fine  four-gal 
lon  milch-cow.  They  threatened  to  jail  'im,  an'  Preston 
agreed  to  withdraw  his  claim.  But  he  got  down-heart 
ed  an'  traded  his  place  fer  a  farm  on  t'other  railroad, 
an'  the  last  I  heerd  o'  him  he  was  at  his  old  trade  agin. 
I  reckon  that's  about  the  way  we'll  be  damaged  by 
gettin'  our  stock  killed.  That's  all  I  got  to  say,  gen 
tlemen.  Let's  git  this  road  an'  scrape  our  fly-specks 
off." 

The  big  house  shook  with  the  applause  that  greeted 
this  speech.  Even  the  opposition  seemed  to  be  wav 
ering.  Only  Bartell  kept  a  rigid  countenance.  He 
rose  and  in  a  low  voice  invited  his  group  to  repair 
with  him  to  one  of  the  jury-rooms.  They  got  up  and 

303 


Abner   Daniel 

followed  him  out.  As  he  was  about  to  close  the  door 
after  them  he  nodded  to  Miller.  "We'll  take  a  vote 
on  it  an'  let  you  know,"  he  said,  coldly. 

"He's  going  to  talk  to  them,"  said  Miller,  aloud  to 
Wilson.  "Mr.  Daniel's  speech  almost  shook  them  out 
of  their  boots,  and  he  saw  he  was  losing  ground.  It 
looks  squally." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Wilson,  gloomily.  "Our 
chances  are  very  slim." 

Miller  caught  Adele's  eye  and  went  to  her. 

"I'm  bound  to  say  the  outlook  is  not  so  favorable," 
he  said.  "If  we  could  have  put  it  to  a  vote  just  after 
your  uncle  spoke  we  would  have  clinched  them,  but 
Bartell  thinks  his  election  depends  on  beating  us  to 
day,  and  being  the  chief  land -owner  he  has  influ 
ence." 

"It  will  break  my  heart,"  said  the  girl,  tremulously. 
"Poor  father  and  mother!  They  look  as  if  they  were 
on  trial  for  their  lives.  Oh,  I  had  so  much  hope  as  we 
drove  over  here  this  morning,  but  now — " 

"I  can't  bear  to  see  you  take  it  that  way,"  said  Mil 
ler,  tenderly.  "I  did  not  intend  to  speak  to  you  so 
soon  about  another  matter,  but  I  can't  put  it  off.  You 
have  become  very,  very  dear  to  me,  little  girl.  In 
fact,  I  never  dreamed  there  was  such  a  thing  as  gen 
uine,  unselfish  love  till  I  knew  you.  It  seems  to  me 
that  you  were  actually  created  for  me.  I  want  you 
to  be  my  wife.  Somehow  I  feel  that  you  care  for  me, 
at  least  a  little,  and  I  believe  when  you  realize  how 
much  I  love  you,  and  how  devoted  I  shall  be,  you  will 
love  me  as  I  do  you. " 

To  his  surprise  she  averted  her  face  and  said  noth 
ing,  though  he  remarked  that  she  had  paled  a  little 
and  compressed  her  lips.  He  waited  a  moment,  then 
said,  anxiously : 

"Haven't  you  something  to  say,  Adele?  Perhaps 

304 


Abner   Daniel 

I  have  misread  you  all  along  and  really  have  no  right 
to  hope.  Oh,  that  would  be  hard  to  bear!" 

"It  is  not  that/'  she  said,  her  breast  heaving  sud 
denly.  "It  is  not  that." 

"Not  that?"  he  repeated,  his  wondering  eyes  fixed 
on  hers. 

Then  she  turned  to  him. 

"  Alan  has  told  me  of  some  of  your  talks  to  him  about 
love,  and — " 

"Oh,  he  has!"  Miller  laughed  out  uneasily.  "But 
surely  you  wouldn't  hold  anything  against  me  that 
I  said  before  I  met  you  in  Atlanta  and  fell  heels  over 
head  in  love  with  you.  Besides,  I  was  simply  stretch 
ing  my  imagination  to  save  him  from  making  a  seri 
ous  mistake.  But  I  know  what  it  is  to  care  for  a  girl 
now,  and  I  have  wanted  to  tell  him  so,  but  simply  could 
not  face  him  with  my  confession — when — when  his 
own  sister  was  in  question." 

"I  have  tried  to  believe,"  Adele  hesitated,  "that  you 
had  changed  in  your  ideas  of  love  since — since  we 
learned  to  know  each  other,  and  I  confess  I  succeeded 
to  some  extent,  but  there  was  one  thing  that  simply 
sticks  and  refuses  to  be  eradicated.  It  sticks  more  right 
now  than  ever.  I  mean  this  morning,  since — " 

"  Now  you  do  surprise  me,"  declared  Miller.  "  Please 
explain.  Don't  you  see  I'm  simply  dying  with  im 
patience?" 

"You  pressed  the  point  in  one  of  those  talks  with 
brother,"  said  Adele,  quite  firmly,  "that  it  was  im 
possible  for  two  people  of  unequal  fortune  to  be  happy 
together,  and — " 

"Now  you  wouldn't  surely  hurl  that  rubbish  at 
me,"  broke  in  Miller.  "I  never  would  have  dreamed 
of  saying  such  a  thing  if  I  had  not  thought  Alan  was 
about  to  butt  his  head  against  a  stone  wall  in  the  hos 
tility  of  Colonel  Barclay.  If  he  had  been  fairly  well 
20  3°5 


Abner   Daniel 

off  and  she  had  been  without  money  I'd  have  said  sail 
in  and  take  her,  but  I  knew  what  a  mercenary  old  man 
Barclay  is,  and  I  thought  I  could  save  the  boy  from  a 
good  many  heartaches." 

"  That — even  as  you  now  put  it — would  be  hard  for  a 
girl  in  my  position  to  forget/'  Adele  told  him.  "For 
if  this  enterprise  fails  to-day,  I  shall — just  think  of  it ! 
— I  shall  not  only  be  penniless,  but  my  father  will  owe 
you  a  large  amount  of  money  that  he  never  will  be 
able  to  pay.  Oh,  I  could  not  bear  to  go  to  you  under 
such  circumstances!  I  have  always  wanted  my  in 
dependence,  and  this  grates  on  my  very  soul." 

Their  eyes  met  in  a  long,  steady  stare.  "Oh,  you 
must — you  really  must  not  see  it  that  way,"  floun 
dered  the  young  man.  "  You  will  make  me  very  mis 
erable.  I  can't  live  without  you,  Adele.  Besides,  I 
shall  not  lose  by  the  loan  I  made  to  your  father.  The 
land  will  bring  the  money  back  sooner  or  later,  and 
what  will  it  matter?  You  will  be  my  wife  and  your 
parents  will  be  my  parents.  Already  I  love  them  as 
my  own.  Oh,  darling,  don't  turn  me  down  this  way! 
Really  I  can't  help  the  turn  matters  have  taken,  and  if 
you  care  for  me  you  ought  not  to  wreck  our  happiness 
for  a  silly  whim  like  this." 

She  sat  unmoved  for  a  moment,  avoiding  the  fervid 
glow  of  his  passion-filled  eyes. 

"If  this  thing  fails  I  shall  be  very  unhappy,"  she 
finally  said.  "Its  success  would  not  make  me  rich, 
but  it  would  remove  a  debt  that  has  nearly  killed  me. 
I  have  never  mentioned  it,  but  it  has  been  like  a  sword 
hanging  over  my  happiness." 

"Then  it  shall  not  fail,"  he  told  her.  "It  shall 
not  fail !  If  those  blockheads  vote  against  it,  I'll 
buy  the  right  of  way,  if  it  takes  the  last  cent  I've 
got." 

This  forced  a  smile  to  Adele 's  lips.  "Then  we'd 

306 


Abner   Daniel 

be  as  deep  in  the  mud  as  we  now  are  in  the  mire/'  she 
said.     Just  then  Pole  Baker  came  to  Miller. 

"I  don't  want  to  make  no  break/'  he  said,  "but  I've 
got  a  idea  I'd  like  to  work  on  them  hill-Billies  in  the 
jury-room  if  you  hain't  no  objections.  I  hain't  got 
time  to  tell  you  about  it,  but  as  you  are  a-runnin'  the 
shebang  I  thought  I'd  ax  permission." 

"Go  and  do  what  you  think  best,  Pole/'  said  Miller, 
recklessly.  "  We  can  trust  to  your  head,  and  anything 
is  better  than  nothing  just  now.  I  really  think  it's 
gone  by  the  board." 

"All  right,  thanky',"  said  Pole,  as  he  shuffled  away. 
He  marched  straight  to  the  jury-room,  and,  without 
rapping,  opened  the  door  and  went  in,  closing  the  door 
after  him.  He  found  the  men  all  discussing  the  matter 
and  was  delighted  to  find  that  the  strength  of  the  oppo 
sition  now  rested  chiefly  in  Bartell  and  a  few  men  who 
seemed  afraid  to  pull  away  from  him.  Pole  slid  up  to 
Bartell  and  said,  as  he  drew  him  to  one  side:  "Say, 
Mr.  Bartell,  what  on  earth  have  you  got  agin  Alan 
Bishop?" 

"Why,  nothin',  Pole,  as  I  know  of,"  said  Bartell, 
rather  sheepishly.  "Nothin'  as  I  know  of." 

"Well,  it  looks  to  me  like  you  got  a  mighty  pore 
way  o'  showin'  good-will.  Why,  he's  the  best  friend 
you  got,  Mr.  Bartell,  an'  totes  more  votes  in  his  vest- 
pocket  fer  you  than  any  man  in  this  county." 

"Huh!  You  don't  say!"  grunted  Bartell,  in  slow 
surprise.  "Well,  he  never  told  me  about  it." 

"Beca'se  you  hain't  announced  yorese'f  yet,"  said 
Pole,  with  a  steady  eye  and  a  set  face.  "Why,  he 
said  t'other  day  to  several  of  us  at  the  log-rollin' — you 
remember  you  rid  by  on  yore  bay,  leadin'  a  milch-cow 
by  a  rope.  Well,  after  you  passed  Alan  Bishop  said : 
'  Boys,  thar  goes  the  only  man  in  this  county  that  has 
convictions  an'  the  courage  to  stand  by  'em.  They 

307 


Abner  Daniel 

say  he's  goin'  to  run  fer  the  legislatur',  an'  ef  he  does, 
I'll  do  all  I  kin  to  elect  'im.  He'll  make  the  best  rep 
resentative  that  we  ever  had.  He's  got  brains,  he 
has." 

"You  don't  say!"     Bartell's  face  beamed,  his  eye 
kindled  and  flashed, 
i     "That's  jest  what!" 

"I  hadn't  the  least  idea  he  was  fer  me,"  said  Bartell, 
drawing  a  deep  breath.  "  In  fact,  I  'lowed  he  would 
be  agin  anybody  but  a  town  man." 

"Alan  never  talks  much,"  said  Pole,  in  a  tone  of 
conviction ;  "  he  acts  when  the  time  comes  fer  it.  But, 
la  me,  Mr.  Bartell,  this  is  agoin'  to  break  him  all  to 
pieces.  He's  in  love  with  old  Barclay's  gal,  an'  she  is 
with  him.  Ef  he  puts  this  road  through  to-day  he'll 
git  his  daddy  out  o'  debt  an'  Barclay  will  withdraw 
his  opposition.  I  don't  know  how  you  feel,  but  I'd  hate 
like  smoke  to  bu'st  a  man  all  to  flinders  that  thought 
as  much  o'  me  as  Alan  does  o'  you." 

"I  never  knowed  he  was  fer  me,"  was  Bartell's  next 
tottering  step  in  the  right  direction. 

"  Well,  vote  fer  the  right  o'  way,  an'  you  kin  ride  to 
an'  from  Atlanta  durin'  session  all  rail.  Me  'n  Alan 
will  pull  fer  you  like  a  yoke  o'  steers — me  with  the 
moonshiners,  an'  my  mountain  clan,  that  ain't  dead 
yet,  an'  him  with  his  gang.  What  you  say?  Put  up 
or  shet  up." 

"I'll  do  what  I  kin,"  said  Bartell,  a  new  light  on 
his  face,  as  he  turned  to  the  others.  "Gentlemen," 
he  began,  "  listen  to  me  a  minute.  I  see  a  good  many 
of  you  was  affected  by  Ab  Daniel's  speech  an'  sort  o' 
want  the  road,  anyway,  so  if — " 

"I  don't  exactly  like  them  specks,"  broke  in  a  fat, 
middle-aged  man  at  a  window.  "By  gum!  I  believe 
old  Ab  had  us  down  about  right.  Ef  we  kin  git  sort 
o'  opened  up  along  with  the  rest  o'  creation,  I  say 

308 


Abner   Daniel 

le's  git  in  the  game.  Huh!" — the  man  finished,  with 
a  laughing  shrug — "I  don't  like  them  fly-specks  one 
bit." 

"Me  nuther,"  said  a  man  beside  him. 

"Nur  me!"  came   from  some  one  else. 

"Well,  I'm  willin'  ef  the  rest  are,"  announced  Bar- 
tell.  "All  in  favor  hold  up  yore  hands." 

Pole  Baker  grinned  broadly  as  he  counted  them. 
"All  up — the  last  one,"  he  said,  then  he  sprang  for  the 
door  and  stood  before  the  expectant  audience. 

"Toot!  toot!"  he  cried,  imitating  the  whistle  of  a 
locomotive.  "All  aboard!  The  road's  a  settled  thing. 
They  say  they  don't  want  no  specks,  an'  they  ain't 
agoin'  to  have  'em.  Hooray!" 

The  audience  was  electrified  by  the  announcement. 
For  an  instant  there  was  a  pause  of  incredulous  aston 
ishment,  and  then  the  floor  resounded  from  the  clatter 
of  feet  and  glad  shouts  filled  the  air. 

Alan,  his  face  ablaze  with  startled  triumph,  came 
towards  Adele  and  Miller.  "Pole  worked  the  rabbit- 
foot  on  them  back  there,"  he  said.  "I  don't  know 
what  he  did,  but  he  did  something." 

"He  told  me  he  had  a  card  left/'  laughed  Miller. 
"  I'll  bet  he  had  it  up  his  sleeve.  There  he  is  now. 
Ou,  Pole,  come  here!" 

The  man  thus  addressed  slouched  down  the  aisle  to 
them,  his  big,  brown  eyes  flashing  merrily  under  his 
heavy  brows,  his  sun-browned  face  dark  with  the  flush 
of  triumph. 

"  Out  with  it,  you  rascal,"  said  Alan.  "  What  did 
you  say  to  them?  Whatever  it  was  it  knocked  their 
props  clean  from  under  them." 

"Ef  you  don't  back  me  in  it,  I'm  a  gone  dog," 
said  Pole  to  Alan.  "  All  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  vote 
for  Bartell,  ef  you  kin  possibly  swallow  the  dose." 

A  light  broke  on  the  two  men.  "I'll  do  it  if  you 
309 


Abner   Daniel 

say  so,  Pole,"  said  Alan.     "Not  only  that,  but  I'll 
work  for  him  if  you  wish  it." 

Pole  looked  down  and  pulled  at  his  heavy  mustache. 

"Well,"  he  smiled,  "I  reckon  he  won't  harm  us  any 
more  in  the  legislatur'  than  the  road  '11  do  us  good,  so 
you'd  better  support  'im.  I  seed  the  bars  down  a  min 
ute  ago,  an'  I  didn't  have  no  time  to  consult  you.  I'd 
'a'  told  a  bigger  lie  'an  that  to  clinch  this  thing." 

Abner  Daniel  joined  them,  smiling  broadly,  his  eyes 
twinkling  joyously. 

"We've  won,  Uncle  Ab,"  exclaimed  Alan;  "what  do 
you  think  of  that?" 

The  old  jester  stroked  his  face  and  swung  his  long 
body  back  and  forth  in  the  wind  of  his  content.  "I've 
always  argued,"  said  he,  "that  what  is  to  be  will  be, 
an'  it  will  be  a  sight  sooner  'n  most  of  us  count  on,  ef 
we'll  jest  keep  our  sperits  up." 

The  others  moved  on,  leaving  Adele  and  Miller  to 
gether. 

"Oh,  just  look  at  mamma  and  papa,"  she  said,  in 
the  round,  full  voice  indicative  of  deep  emotion.  "  They 
are  so  glad  they  are  about  to  cry." 

"What  a  dear,  dear  girl  you  are,"  said  Miller,  softly. 
"There  is  nothing  to  separate  us  now,  is  there?" 

For  a  moment  they  met  in  a  full  look  into  each  other's 
eyes.  Adele's  voice  shook  when  she  replied:  "I  be 
lieve  I'm  the  happiest,  proudest  girl  in  all  the  world." 

"Then  you  love  me?" 

"I  believe  I've  loved  you  from  the  very  minute  I  met 
you  in  Atlanta  last  summer." 

Alan  saw  Dolly  looking  at  him  and  waving  her  hand 
kerchief,  her  face  warm  and  flushed.  He  was  tempted 
to  go  to  her,  but  she  still  sat  by  her  father  and  mother, 
and  that  fact  checked  him.  Mrs.  Barclay  caught  his 
eye,  and,  rising  suddenly,  came  through  the  crowd  to 
him.  She  extended  her  gloved  hand. 

310 


Abner   Daniel 

"You  and  Dolly  must  stop  your  foolishness/'  she 
said.  "I've  been  thinking  of  a  plan  to  help  you  two 
out.  If  I  were  you  I  wouldn't  say  a  word  to  her  now, 
but  next  Sunday  night  come  and  take  her  to  church 
just  like  you  used  to.  I'll  attend  to  Colonel  Barclay. 
He  is  just  tickled  to  death  over  this  thing  and  he  won't 
make  any  fuss.  He  is  as  stubborn  as  a  mule,  though, 
and  when  he  has  to  give  in,  it's  better  not  to  let  him 
think  you  are  gloating  over  him.  He  won't  bother 
you  any  more;  I'll  see  to  that." 

Alan  thanked  her.  He  was  so  full  of  happiness 
that  he  was  afraid  to  trust  his  voice  to  utterance.  As 
Mrs.  Barclay  was  going  back  to  her  husband  and 
daughter,  Pole  Baker  passed.  Alan  grasped  him  by 
the  hand. 

"Say,  Pole,"  he  said,  his  voice  full  and  quavering, 
"I  want  to  tell  you  that  I  think  more  of  you  than  I  do 
of  any  man  alive." 

"Well,  Alan,"  said  Pole,  awkwardly,  yet  with  an 
eye  that  did  not  waver,  "I  kin  shore  return  the  com 
pliment.  Ef  it  hadn't  been  fer  you  an'  yore  advice  I'd 
'a'  been  in  hell  long  ago,  an'  as  it  is,  I  feel  more  like 
livin'  a  straight,  honest  life  than  I  ever  did.  You 
never  axed  me  but  one  thing  that  I  didn't  grant,  an' 
that  was  to  give  up  whiskey.  I  don't  know  whether 
I  ever  will  be  able  to  do  it  or  not,  but,  by  the  great  God 
above,  I'm  agoin'  to  keep  on  tryin',  fer  I  know  you 
want  it  jest  fer  my  good.  I  don't  want  a  dram  to-day, 
fer  a  wonder,  an'  maybe  in  time  I'll  git  over  my 
thirst." 

As  Alan  was  about  to  get  into  his  buggy  with  his 
uncle,  the  Colonel  and  his  wife  and  daughter  passed. 
With  a  sheepish  look  on  his  face  the  old  man  bowed  to 
the  two  men,  but  Dolly  stopped  before  Alan  and  held 
out  her  hand. 

"You  were  going  away  without  even  speaking  to 
311 


Abner   Daniel 

me,"  she  said,  a  catch  in  her  voice.  "Think  of  it- 
to-day  of  all  days  to  be  treated  like  that!" 

"But  your  mother  told  me — " 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  she  couldn't  be  relied  on?"  broke 
in  Dolly,  with  a  smile.  "I  have  more  influence  with 
papa  than  she  has.  I  know  what  she  told  you.  I 
made  her  confess  it  just  now.  Are  you  going  to  town 
to-day?" 

"Yes,"  he  informed  her;  "we  shall  complete  the 
arrangements  there." 

"Then  come  right  down  to  see  me  as  soon  as  you 
possibly  can,"  Dolly  said.  "I'm  dying  to  see  you — 
to  talk  with  you.  Oh,  Alan,  I'm  so — so  happy!" 

"So  am  I,"  he  told  her,  as  he  pressed  her  hand  ten 
derly.  "Then  I  shall  see  you  again  to-day." 

"  Yes,  to-day,  sure,"  she  said,  and  she  moved  on. 

"She's  all  right,"  said  Abner  Daniel,  as  Alan  climb 
ed  in  the  buggy  beside  him.  "She's  all  wool  an'  a 
yard  wide." 

"I  reckon  you  are  satisfied  with  the  way  it  come 
out,  Uncle  Ab,"  said  his  nephew,  flushing  over  the 
compliment  to  Dolly. 

"Jest  want  one  thing  more,"  said  the  old  man,  "an' 
I  can't  make  out  whether  it's  a  sin  or  not.  I  want  to 
face  Perkins  an'  Abe  Tompkins.  I'd  give  my  right 
arm  to  meet  'em  an'  watch  the'r  faces  when  they  heer 
about  the  railroad, an'  the  price  yore  pa's  land  fetched." 


THE  END 


BY  WILL  N.  HARDEN 


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MRS.  KEITH'S  CRIME.  A  Novel.  New  Edition. 
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Beacon,  Boston. 

LOVE    LETTERS    OF    A   WORLDLY    WOMAN. 

16mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 

There  is  abundant  cleverness  in  it.  The  situations  are  presented 
with  skill  and  force,  and  the  letters  are  written  with  great  dramatic 
propriety  and  much  humor. — St.  James's  Gazette,  London. 

AUNT  ANNE.    A  Novel.    Post  8vo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 

There  are  in  fiction  few  characters  more  consistently  and  pow 
erfully  set  forth  ;  in  its  way  this  piece  of  work  is  perfection.  The 
study  is  so  remarkable  that  it  is  hard  to  believe  that  it  is  not  from 
life. —.#.  T.  Tribune. 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

of  the  above  works  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid, 
to  any  part  of  the  United  /States,  Canada,  or  Mexico,  on  receipt  of 
the  price. 


MARY  E.  WILKINS'  WORKS 


THE  PORTION  OF  LABOR.     Illustrated.     $i  50- 

The  story  of  an  American  girl. 

UNDERSTUDIES.     Illustrated.     $i  25. 

SILENCE,    and    Other    Stories.     Second    Edition. 
$i  25. 

JEROME :  A  POOR  MAN.     $i  50. 

A  NEW  ENGLAND  NUN,  and  other  Stories.  $i  25. 

They  are  all  interesting,  full  of  careful  studies  of  life  and 
nature,  written  wholly  without  pretence  or  affectation,  with 
a  feeling  of  sweet  human  sympathy,  gilded  by  pleasant  touches 
of  humor.— OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES,  writing  of  Miss 
Wilkins'  stories. 

JANE  FIELD.     A  Novel.     $i  25. 

This  is  one  of  the  cleverest  and  best-thought-out  books 
of  the  season. — Black  and  White.  Is  an  exceptionally  clever 
book ;  every  line  tells. — Guardian. 

PEMBROKE.     $i  50. 

Miss  Mai*y  Wilkins  has  fairly  surpassed  her  predecessors 
in  this  kind  of  fiction. — The  Times.  This  is  the  gem  of  Miss 
Wilkins's  very  remarkable  production. — The  Spectator. 

MADELON.     $i  25. 

YOUNG    LUCRETIA,    and   other   Stories.     Illus 
trated.     Si  25. 

We  know  of  no  one  who  can  \vrite  a  short  story  with  such 
art  and  simplicity  as  Miss  Wilkins,  and  every  tale  is  invested 
with  a  charm  and  a  pathos  which  it  would  be  hard  to  match. 
— Birmingham  Daily  Gazette. 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

of  the  above  works  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  pre 
paid,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  Canada,  or  Mexico, 
on  receipt  of  the  price. 


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